Socks
by Deadwoodpecker
Summary: Draco Malfoy's murder of Albus Dumbledore causes chaos. AU. Harry/Ginny.
1. In the Beginning

20 April 1997 - 21 April 1997

_Dumbledore is dead._

Harry awoke from his latest nightmare with that thought clanging through his head. It had been three days since the headmaster's death, and the truth of it just got worse. Harry lay in his twisted sheets, heart racing, and the backs of his eyes stinging so fiercely, he thought he might have been hexed. Neville's snores seemed loud and jarring, and the air in the dorm was stifling and hot. It smothered Harry; he wanted to open a window, but it was still April and cold.

He got out of bed and, not even bothering with his dressing gown, stepped into his slippers and pulled open the door. Blindly, he went down the stairs, and it wasn't until he was already halfway across the common room when he realized he wasn't alone. It was three in the morning, but a fire burned merrily in the hearth, and he could see someone's legs stretched out toward the fire. Harry could immediately tell that the fellow insomniac was a girl. He spared a brief moment to beg Merlin that it wasn't Lavender Brown, or Romilda Vane, or some other silly girl--

"Harry?" Ginny asked, peering around the side of the armchair.

"Ginny," he said, immensely relieved.

Perhaps it was the lateness of the hour, or the fact that Harry felt particularly raw, but he was absurdly happy that it was Ginny. She was an excellent listener, really. And she wouldn't push him into talking more than he wanted to. But as soon as he thought it, his mind retreated. "You're up late," he said unnecessarily.

She slowly uncurled from the armchair, and stood up, looking at him uncertainly. "Did you have a nightmare?" she asked.

"Yes," he said quickly, surprising himself. He'd fully intended on lying, but he just couldn't. Shrugging, he tried to pass it off as no big deal. "I mean -- you know, just the normal..." he said, failing at trying to sound casual.

Ginny wasn't a fool, though. Her face registered her skepticism, and highlighted the truth that she didn't believe him. He thought of all the times she'd never let him get away with anything, and his chest tightened.

_Escape now!_

But she was coming closer, and Harry was rooted to the spot. Her brow was furrowed. "Harry, I can't even imagine -- I know you and Dumbledore were close," she said. "I don't know how you're feeling--"

"I'm scared," he blurted out, to his own horror. _Why did I have to say that? Why???_"Dumbledore, he was supposed to tell me more," he continued, despite his disgust with himself. "He was supposed to help me, and prop me up and tell me exactly what to do."

Instead of laughing at him or being disappointed in him, however, she sucked in a breath, and then stepped forward and wrapped her arms around him. Harry meant to pull away, but somehow his arms went around her until one hand was on her back, and the other in her hair. "He was supposed to be there at the end," he said. It just seemed intensely wrong that Dumbledore would not see how it finished.

"I'm so sorry," she whispered against his chest.

The next day they buried Albus Dumbledore. It was cold and grey, more like winter than April, and Harry was still in a state of complete disbelief. How could _Draco Malfoy_ have possibly killed Dumbledore? How had the greatest wizard of the age been defeated by a bottle of oak-matured mead? The _way_ Dumbledore had died seemed just as wrong as the death itself. Harry felt anger and grief, of course, but those emotions were tempered by confusion.

Harry was jerked out of his thoughts when an eerie sound filled his ears. Ron, beside him, startled just as violently, and Hermione took a deep breath. The wailing and keening song sounded as though it came from the lake, and it rippled through the air, and the brisk wind felt even colder. _Merfolk,_ he thought distantly. His eyes caught Ginny's. She sat behind him next to her boyfriend, Dean Thomas.

Not even twelve hours ago, when everyone else had been asleep, he had woken from a nightmare and wandered into the common room, only to find that she'd done the same thing. And after a short conversation -- Harry couldn't even remember what had been said -- she'd hugged him. Just wrapped her arms around him the way her mother had after he'd come away from the maze in his fourth year. Except with Ginny, he'd actually been able to cry, because it had been just the two of them. Much to his own surprise, he didn't even feel self-conscious about it. And when she'd started to cry, too, Harry hadn't wanted to pull away from her as he had with Cho, but had wanted to pull her closer.

"--a long, full life," the tufty-haired wizard who presided over the funeral said. "He was considered by many to be the greatest wizard in living memory, with an unshakeable alliance to truth and--"

Harry tore his eyes away from Ginny, and instead focused his thoughts on the impossible task ahead of him. Voldemort and his Horcruxes...

An elbow jabbed his ribs, and Harry looked up, shocked to see that the funeral had ended and the guests were filing away, solemnly. _I didn't even pay attention to Dumbledore's funeral,_ he thought dazedly. He felt the absurd urge to laugh, but something heavy pressed down on his chest, and he couldn't. _I can't do this alone,_ Harry thought for what felt like the hundredth time since speaking to Professor Slughorn.

He had to speak to Dumbledore's portrait, and that meant talking to McGonagall. And if he had to speak to McGonagall, and tell her the secrets Dumbledore had told him, he might as well tell those members of the Order of the Phoenix he could trust. All of the Weasleys... Mad-Eye... Remus and Tonks... Kingsley... even Dedalus Diggle. They could help. Harry glanced over at Ron and Hermione; they looked as anxious as he felt, and he was forcibly reminded that they were all young teenagers, and Dumbledore had left them alone with what felt like the weight of the world.

"I'm going to tell them," Harry said quietly, after checking to make sure that no one was listening.

"About the--" Ron began.

Harry interrupted him. "Yes. About the Horcruxes. We can't do this alone," Harry added, when Hermione looked as though she wanted to argue. "We have no idea where they are, what they are, or how to destroy them," he said firmly, scanning the crowd for the people he trusted most. "When Dumbledore told me -- I'm sure he didn't know he was going to -- he couldn't have expected us to do this alone."

"All right, mate," Ron said quietly.

"When do you want to tell them?" Hermione asked.

Harry sought Ginny out one more time. She stood off by herself -- no Dean in sight -- gazing out over the water. For an instant, he indulged himself in thinking that he could turn this task over to the adults and let them worry about it. He could stay here at Hogwarts, attend his classes, be a normal sixteen year old--

But he couldn't linger over that fantasy for very long. "Now," he said.

*****************

02 June 1997

**NEW MINISTER OF MAGIC**  
Ben Linus

_After a year of political turmoil under the unsteady hand of ex-Auror Rufus Scrimgeour, the Ministry of Magic has another new leader at the helm of Britain's Wizarding community. Pius Thicknesse, former Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement (see "Pius Thicknesse: A Life in Pictures, page 3), has stepped in after Scrimgeour tendered his resignation late last night. The decision to elect him was unanimous. "Sure, everyone thought he was the best man for the job," says Agatha Higgenbothem, who cast her vote with the rest of the Wizengamot._

In a radical move, he completely eliminated the Auror Department (see "Corruption in the Auror Department, page 4), replacing it with a select few called Enforcers, of which John Dawlish is now the Head. "I regret to say that the Auror Department had gotten so corrupt that it must be eliminated," says Thicknesse in his first interview as Minister of Magic. "A total rework is required." He promises many more changes ahead, including the release of what he calls "terrifying information" from the Department of Mysteries regarding Muggleborns.

Scrimgeour was unavailable for comment regarding his abrupt resignation. It is believed that he has fled the country.

************************

28 July 1997

Ginny had just about had it with her mother.

"If you could tie the napkins, dear, and then I need you to pull the laundry--"

_Honestly, the woman cares more about the wedding than the fact that Ron, Harry, and Hermione are being hunted down by the Ministry of Magic,_ Ginny thought scornfully. The kitchen at the Burrow was bright and cheery, but Ginny felt anything but. Unfortunately, everyone else around her seemed to think it of no consequence, that the war had truly begun. Her dad was being watched, the members of the Order of the Phoenix had to regulate their activities, and some, like Remus and Tonks, had had to go into hiding.

"And after that, you have to go to my room, I have everything out for you, you just need to--"

_That's not true,_ Ginny amended, trying to be fair. They were trying to keep it from her. Last night, after a horrific dream involving Voldemort (she'd been back in the Chamber of Secrets, and Harry had been trying to fight the basilisk, but rivers of blood were coming out of his scar, and she couldn't even help -- she'd been completely unable to move), she'd come down for tea, only to hear her mother sobbing quietly.

"And if you--"

"_Mum!_" Ginny said exasperatedly. "You don't need to pretend everything's all right."

"What?" her mother said stiffly. She had her back to Ginny, and was busy waving her wand and getting the kitchen into order while preparing lunch. "I just need your help with--"

"You're really this involved in the wedding?" Ginny asked in disbelief. "You can't _lie_ to me, Mum. I know that you have a thousand more important things to think about--"

"My oldest son is getting married, that's very important," her mum said, still not looking at her.

"Yes, of course, it would be if we weren't at war," Ginny said. Her stomach tightened with anger. She couldn't believe that her mother was going to pretend like it didn't matter, like a wedding was equal to everyone Ginny loved being in mortal danger. It reminded her of why she'd broken up with Dean Thomas, who had no understanding (even though he was probably a Muggleborn) of what it meant that Dumbledore had died. Dean had only had a mind for what it meant for their relationship, and not what it meant for everyone else.

"The wedding is even more important because of the war."

Ginny felt like her eyes were about to pop out of her head. Her mother obviously thought she was too young, too inexperienced to handle the truth; she wouldn't even confide in Ginny her worries, just tried to pretend that everything was fine, that she wasn't going out of her mind with fear for her family's safety. "That's stupid," Ginny muttered.

No reply.

"I wish you wouldn't lie to me," Ginny said in a low, angry voice. "Do you think I'm five years old? Or stupid? Everyone's in danger and you won't even acknowledge it. I fought at the Ministry of Magic, you know, it's not like I'm clueless. And I'll be joining the Order when I'm--"

"_You will not be joining the Order,_" her mum hissed, spinning around, face scarlet, and eyes blazing.

Ginny took a step backward, gaping. The fury and fear on her mother's face was stark. "Of course I'm going to join the Order," Ginny said. How could her mother not know this? Ever since her fourth year, when they had spent the summer at Grimmauld Place, she'd planned to join as soon as she'd turned seventeen. It was _obvious_. Ginny wouldn't, couldn't just watch her family go out and fight while she sat at home.

_Like hell._

"You're mental," she told her mother flatly, bracing herself for a fight.

*******************

03 August 1997

Harry stared up at Grimmauld Place, grimacing. Beside him, Ron muttered inarticulately. Even Hermione, who generally tried to put a good face on things, looked slightly squeamish. It was not the first time since they had left school that they had returned to the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black. Not by a long shot.

But every time they returned, it got a little more difficult to get inside.

"He's mental," Ron said crossly.

"I'm not looking forward to the Probity Probe," Harry admitted.

Mad-Eye Moody had reached new heights of paranoia in the last few months, ever since Harry had told the members of the Order of the Phoenix about the Horcruxes. Obsessed with security, the old Auror had implemented more and more measures to ensure that a situation like that of Pettigrew did not arise. These measures grew more intrusive with every visit.

His gaze fixed on the towering townhouse, which seemed to rise out of the unnatural mist, looking haunted and dark, Harry said, "Let's just do it. It can't be that much worse than last time."

Ten minutes later, Harry stepped out of the foyer -- after being subjected to several things that had made him squirm with discomfort (_At least no one saw,_ Harry told himself firmly, glad that Mad-Eye still allowed a small amount of privacy) -- glumly relieved that it was over. So caught up in his thoughts was he that he did not notice the pudgy boy directly in his path until he knocked into him and almost toppled over.

"Neville!" he said loudly, all thoughts of the Probity Probe flying out of his mind. He pumped the other boy's hand vigorously. "What're you doing here?"

"Turned seventeen, didn't I?" Neville said proudly. "I was waiting -- you know how they are about not letting any under age people into the Order."

Harry nodded. _That_ was certainly true. Mrs. Weasley was particularly fanatic about it. Even though he hadn't seen Ginny since the day of Dumbledore's funeral (it was too dangerous to visit the Burrow, especially since Voldemort had taken over the Ministry of Magic, and only Order members were allowed at Grimmauld Place), the fights the two Weasley women had gotten into about this exact issue were legendary.

At least according to Fred and George.

"Are you going to go back to school?" Harry asked.

Neville nodded. "Mad-Eye reckons that he needs a few people at Hogwarts, not just professors like Snape, McGonagall, and Hagrid," he said. "Seamus is going to join too. He turns seventeen tomorrow. And some of the girls are... Hannah Abbott and Susan Bones from Hufflepuff," he added. Then he rattled off a list of most members of Dumbledore's Army who had already joined, or were planning to.

"All of them?" Harry asked uncertainly, widening his eyes, just as Ron stumped into the room, rubbing his backside, and looking disgruntled.

"Yeah," Neville said. "Don't sound so surprised, Harry. We want to be rid of You-Know-Who, too."

**********************

08 September 1997

**BREAK-IN AT ST. MUNGO'S**  
William Mapother

_The lull in violence that lasted from April to September was shattered late last night when St. Mungo's was almost raided. Mundungus Fletcher (see "The Many Crimes of Dung," page 5) was caught in the act. It is believed that he was acting on behalf of the terrorist organization, the Order of the Phoenix. Although the sneak thief was not a confirmed member, it is widely known that he was friendly with Albus Dumbledore._

It is fortunate that he was stopped before he could either steal potions belonging to law-abiding, pureblooded witches and wizards, though this was not the only danger. The Order of the Phoenix, known to be violently against the Ministry of Magic and supportive of Undesirable Number One, could have made use of some of the heavily regulated poisons contained therein. "Either way, it would have been awful if that group of criminals had gotten our potions," says mediwitch Amity Harrow. "They would have stolen from us in order to heal themselves after they've been fighting."

This was the first use of the new wards (see "How the Ministry of Magic is Protecting Us," page 8) circling Britain's largest hospital for magical maladies and injuries. "We want to protect that which should not fall into the hands of terrorist groups," says Augustus Rookwood. "Therefore, St. Mungo's is now more heavily protected than even the Ministry of Magic, with multiple wards surrounding it."

The most effective ward, which acts as a web, was what caught the thief. While his fate is unknown, he will not be stealing from purebloods on behalf of the Order of the Phoenix ever again. Thanks to the protective measures taken by the Ministry, it is unlikely that St. Mungo's will be subjected to thievery again.

**********************

17 November 1997

The sitting room at Grimmauld Place had become a war room, and there was a thick, heady excitement in the air. Two objects floated in midair over a long, rickety table that was just barely large enough to fit all the members of the Order of the Phoenix who had come to witness the destruction of another Horcrux. The old ring that had once belonged to the Peverell family whirled slowly, revolving around the diary.

_Soon another one will be up there,_ Harry thought, satisfied. _Very soon. Tonight._

With the help of Severus Snape and Albus Dumbledore's portrait, Bill and Fleur Weasley had finally found the location of a cave in which they believed Voldemort had placed one of his Horcruxes. Just two days before, the married couple had burst into Grimmauld Place, exclaiming that they'd found a cave that had seen magic. They hadn't entered it, of course, but this was the best lead they'd had for any of the Horcruxes.

"That doesn't solve the problem that we don't know what we're getting into," Mad-Eye said implacably. But Harry saw that he was nearly as excited as the rest of them, and his lips were twisted into a small smile. "Bill said that the wards were complex... only one wizard -- or witch," he added when he saw Hermione about to protest, "can enter. But I dislike the idea of sending anyone alone, you know that."

"One wizard or witch that's _of age_," Bill clarified. "We could--"

"_Absolutely not_," Molly Weasley said tightly. "No children are going anywhere near that cave, and if you think I'm going to let you--"

"You should let Ginny go, Mum," Fred said. He pointed up at the diary. "She has as much a right as any of us--"

"Not another word," Mrs. Weasley said, slamming her fist down on the table. "She's sixteen years old, and she's in enough danger as it is with those damn Carrows. We do_not_ use children."

"Why not use a house-elf?" Harry asked. There was a sharp pain in his knee: Hermione had kicked him under the table. His eyes watered and he immediately regretted his words. Until he looked up, that is. Hermione appeared to be the only one who did not like this notion.

"That's an idea," Mad-Eye said gruffly.

"We can use Kreacher," Harry told him, not wanting to think too closely as to why he'd rather use Kreacher than Dobby. And without waiting for an answer, he said loudly, "KREACHER!"

The house-elf appeared with a loud _crack!_ and a baleful glance at Harry. "Yes, Master?" he croaked, skulking closer. Harry grimaced. "Kreacher, I'm ordering you to never speak of what happens tonight to anyone outside of this room," he ordered.

"Is that really--" Hermione began.

"Yes, it's necessary," Harry cut her off, thinking of Kreacher's involvement in Sirius' death. Everyone else in the room was entirely silent. Even the twins had stopped fidgeting and had their eyes fixed on bat-eared house-elf.

"Yes, Master," Kreacher said finally.

Now that Kreacher had acknowledged Harry's order, Harry did not know quite what to do. None of the more adult members of the Order of the Phoenix offered to take over; even Moody seemed content to let Harry take the lead in this matter. Harry cast a glance around the table; the firelight flickered strangely across their faces. Moody sat in silence, staring thoughtfully at Kreacher, but it seemed like his mind was a hundred miles away. Bill's scars stood out starkly, and a sudden nervousness washed over Harry.

_They trust me too much,_ Harry thought for the thousandth time. Taking a deep breath, he said, "Kreacher, we need you to... You-Know-Who has an object that we've got to retrieve," he said carefully. Despite the fact that he knew that Kreacher would not be able to tell others about this, Harry did not want to give the house-elf too much information. "It's in a cave"--Kreacher's eyes bulged at this--"and we need you to help us get it, because it takes two to do it"--the house-elf's mouth dropped open, revealing teeth that had probably not been cleaned in several decades--"but one of them can't be a fully grown witch or wizard."

Harry was completely unprepared for what came next.

Kreacher let out a wail so loud that Harry's ears hurt. Ron knocked over his glass of pumpkin juice, and Hermione almost fell out of her chair. Moody's misshapen mouth hung open, and his full attention was now centered on the house-elf. Mrs. Weasley put her hand over her mouth just as Kreacher ran over to the wall and began to beat his head against it, incomprehensible croaks coming out of his mouth.

"What the bloody, buggering _hell_?" Ron said loudly.

"Kreacher, stop!" Harry said.

"The locket!" Kreacher sobbed. "Master is wanting the locket... Master Regulus' locket... in the cave! And Kreacher tried and _tried_ to destroy it!" He flung himself down on the ground, and beat his little fists against the hard floor. Harry's mind reeled with shock.

"Regulus' locket?" Remus Lupin asked in disbelief, speaking up for the first time that evening. "Sirius' brother?"

"Kreacher doesn't have to speak to _werewolves_," Kreacher said, lifting his head from the floor, his voice dripping with disdain.

"Be polite," Harry snapped. But his rebuke was only half-hearted. What did Regulus Black have to do with anything? His confusion grew by the second. Regulus had been a Death Eater, hadn't he? That's what Sirius had said... "Tell me everything you know about the locket, Kreacher," Harry told him.

Kreacher's voice was muffled by the floor, but bit by bit, the story came out. Regulus hadn't just gotten cold feet as Sirius had described. But somehow he'd divined the truth about the Horcruxes. Not only that, but he'd volunteered Kreacher to help hide it. And when Voldemort had tried to kill Kreacher, Regulus' loyalty to Voldemort had broken... and the Horcrux--

"What happened to it?" Harry asked eagerly, looking around the room as though Slytherin's locket would appear in front of him. It felt close, so tantalizingly close--

"That sneak thief Mundungus Fletcher stole it from Kreacher," Kreacher moaned. His eyes were filled with loathing.

And despite the fact that Harry didn't like to think ill of a deceased member of the Order of the Phoenix, Harry couldn't blame him. In this instance, they were in accord. Dung would have sold it... they had no possible way of knowing who had the locket, where it was, whose mind was possibly being taken over by the Horcrux...

"_Fuck_," said Fred.

************************

25 March 1998

**LAST WILL AND TESTAMENT OF FRED AND GEORGE WEASLEY**

**I.**  
We, Fred and George Weasley, residing in London, being reasonably sound of mind, do hereby declare this instrument to be our last will and testament.

**II.**  
We hereby revoke all previous wills and codicils.

**III.**  
We direct that the disposition of our remains be as follows:

Our remains (if we haven't blown ourselves up, of course) are to be placed in the cemetery at Ottery St. Catchpole.

**IV.**

We give half of the contents of our Gringotts vault to our brother, Ronald Bilius Weasley, should he survive us for 60 days (he'd better). We give the other half of the contents of our Gringotts vault to our sister, Ginevra Molly Weasley. If our brother, Ronald Bilius Weasley, does not survive us, we give all of the contents to Ginevra Molly Weasley. If neither Ronald Bilius Weasley nor Ginevra Molly Weasley, survives us, we give all of the contents of the Gringotts vault to Arthur Weasley, to distribute it fairly amongst all surviving members of our immediate family. To Percy Ignatius Weasley and Lee Jordan, we leave Weasleys Wizard Wheezes, to be shared equally. To Tom Marvolo Riddle, we leave all of our stock of U-No-Poo in hopes that our deaths will help create a more peaceful world.

**V.**  
We appoint Arthur Weasley, to act as the executor of this will, to serve without bond. Should Arthur Weasley be unable or unwilling to serve, then we appoint William Arthur Weasley to act as the executor of this will.

We herewith affix our signatures to this will on this

the 12th day of December, 1997

Arthur Weasley's eyes kept being drawn again and again to the simple piece of paper that he held in his right hand. His glasses dug into his nose -- he kept pressing his hand to his eyes, forgetting the obstruction -- and his gaze drifted to the page. Molly's sobs, coming from the other room, were strangely muffled. Specific words jumped out at him:_last will and testament, disposition of our remains,_ and _executor._

It hurt to look at the rather official looking parchment. The goblins had stamped it, affixed any number of magical signatures, and had finally given it into Arthur's keeping.

Because Arthur was the executor.

_The twins are dead._

************************

18 April 1998

The graves were located in a humble little cemetery just outside the village of Ottery St. Catchpole. The headstones were plain, but a profusion of flowers had been planted over the patch of earth, underneath which Fred and George would have been laid to rest, had their bodies been found. The rustling of the new leaves on the trees was the only sound.

Ron sat cross-legged, facing the two gravestones, head in his hands. Hermione knelt behind him and had her arms wrapped around him in silent comfort. Harry stood, unable to take his eyes away from the etched letters of the Weasley twins' names.

He didn't feel struck by grief, nor did he feel angry. Harry had not been galvanized into further, fruitless action by the deaths of the twins. No fury had risen up inside him, making him want to tear Voldemort's body apart, the way Voldemort had torn his own soul. Instead, Harry just couldn't believe it.

Fred and George had gone into St. Mungo's and had never come out again. The sinister wards erected by the Death Eaters had captured them, and even though their bodies had not been retrieved from Voldemort's lair, there was no way that the Death Eaters would have let them live. The sun shone down on the graves, the flowers (surely planted by Mrs. Weasley) grew profusely and colorfully, but all Harry could think about was how ludicrous it was that they were dead.

_Dead._

It had happened in March, and this was the first time that the Death Eaters hadn't been lingering around the cemetery. They still believed that Ron had been struck by spattergroit almost immediately after Dumbledore's death, but they knew that Harry was friendly with the Weasleys. Being Undesirable Number One -- _or even just a friend of Undesirable Number One,_ Harry thought -- meant that moments in public were not advisable.

"They killed them," Ron said in anguished disbelief. Harry knew what was going through his mind. They'd all heard through Snape what had happened to Mundungus Fletcher when he'd been caught in the wards. The thought of Fred and George dying like that...

Harry didn't really have any words of comfort to offer.

Ron's shoulders shook, and Harry stepped away, not wanting to intrude on his privacy. Hermione could offer him words and touches of comfort; all Harry could give him was shock and the fact that Harry couldn't believe that Fred and George were dead.

"It's going to be all right," Hermione murmured over and over again.

Harry didn't believe her.


	2. Charmed

30 June 1998

His skin was clammy, his mouth watered, and his stomach clenched down as soon as Neville Longbottom opened his eyes. Rocketing out of bed in his childhood bedroom, Neville barely made it to the loo in time to reacquaint himself with what he'd eaten the day before.

_Stop it._

Neville looked down at his shaking hands, feeling a sort of grim helplessness. He was not unused to this feeling; he had spent his seventh year at Hogwarts with it as his constant companion. Helpless against the Carrows, helpless against the war, stuck at school, not able to do anything... And now that Moody -- Mad-Eye Moody, leader of the Order of the Phoenix -- had deemed him acceptable enough to give him a _very dangerous mission_, he was frightened out of his bloody mind.

His grandmother's lace curtains billowed in the the early morning breeze. Despite it being summer, it was cold.

"What would Harry do," Neville tried to bolster his courage. Harry wouldn't be scared or timid. And if Harry hadn't been Undesirable Number One, wanted by both the Enforcers and the Death Eaters, Harry probably would have accepted Moody's assignment without a second thought.

Neville was on his seventeenth thought. _I'm insane._ This fact echoed in his mind as he pushed himself up off the bathroom floor, stumbled back into his room, and dressed. Forcing his heartbeat to calm, he deliberately pulled his best robes over his head. He refused to allow his fingers to tremble. After he finished, he stared out his window at the lovingly attended back garden. _The roses could do with a trim,_ he thought critically.

Plants. Yes, plants.

He filled his thoughts with how he was going to one day spend all his time on magical horticulture. As he said goodbye to his grandmother, kissing her on her papery thin cheek, he planned out his own greenhouse. _No, no,_ he told himself as he grabbed a bite of toast and headed for the floo. _I mustn't keep the Screaming Violets next to the Flaming Roses... that wouldn't do..._

He decided to walk from the Leaky Cauldron. Interspersed with thoughts about plants and horticulture and everything Neville loved, panic occasionally rolled over him, making him want to run for another bathroom. When Moody had first given him the assignment, Neville had thought he was joking... shouldn't something like that be given to someone slightly more competent? Moody had guessed his thoughts and had insisted, quite gruffly, that Neville was the best man for the job. This had buoyed him enough that Neville had told Moody yes, he'd do it, before he'd actually had a chance to think about it.

_I'm insane,_ Neville moaned inwardly.

Neville was standing in front of the pimply faced security wizard just inside the Ministry of Magic before he even realized it.

"Blood status?" the young wizard -- probably only a few years older than Neville himself -- asked. He sounded bored, uninterested, but his eyes were keen.

"Pure," Neville responded promptly, trying to sound proud of it.

He arched a brow. "You sure about that?"

"No mud in my veins," Neville confirmed, offering a silent apology to Hermione Granger, Dean Thomas, and Colin Creevey, and his other friends who were Muggleborn.

"Business at the Ministry?"

Neville breathed out through his nostrils. "I'm here to see John Dawlish," he forced himself to say firmly. "I want -- I'm going to be an Enforcer."

**************************

11 July 1998

**ENFORCERS ENJOY EXPANSION IN NUMBERS**  
Ben Linus

_It can only be explained by the recent Hogwarts graduation, but the year old Enforcer Squad (which replaced the Auror Department) has recently seen a vast increase in numbers. Sons and more than a few daughters from pure-blood families which typically pursued other professions have decided to join up as well (see "Pure-bloods and Politics: A Renaissance"). "Everyone here at the Ministry, and all pure-bloods in Britain, are quite pleased to see the increase in numbers," said Minister Pius Thicknesse._

The former Auror Headquarters are filled to bursting with recent Hogwarts graduates and others. "Yes, Madam Lestrange was very persuasive in her encouragement to join the Enforcer Squad," said Uther Dobbs, pure-blood, and distantly related to the Selwyn family. "I'm quite proud to do so," he added. The Enforcers differ from the Snatchers in several different ways (not least of which is truly superior blood-status), and a rigorous training regiment (not unlike the former Auror training, though vastly more effective) is required for all new Enforcers.

"We only hope that wise young people will continue to join," said Madam Bellatrix Lestrange, who has spent a significant amount of time recruiting wizards and witches to help protect the Ministry from terrorist organizations and Mudblood rebellions. "The future of Wizarding society is at stake, and we need every wand to join our cause."

**********************

15 August 1998

Ginny waited until a few days after her seventeenth birthday to talk to Moody about joining the Order of the Phoenix. Just to keep her mother off the scent.

And if there had been anything that the Carrows had taught her during her sixth year at Hogwarts, it had been to be more patient and cunning... more like a Slytherin, she supposed. But regardless, she had spent the entire summer _not_ talking about the Order of the Phoenix, and pretending that the war didn't exist.

It certainly made her mother happier.

The peace was kept. Ginny did not mention the dementor attacks (even when Mr. Fawcett had suffered the Dementor's Kiss), or the increasing amount of Muggle deaths, or indicate at all that she spent a significant amount of time around the corner from the kitchen, listening to the _real_ news. She refused to talk about Harry, Ron, and Hermione (even though she thought about them all the time). And when she mentioned Fred and George, it was only to express the grief, and not to talk about the way they died.

Somehow, Ginny managed to fool her mother into thinking that the argument they'd had the year before (the one that had caused all the windows in the Burrow to need to be replaced) had been resolved. Molly Weasley no longer believed that Ginny was willing to risk life and limb to throw herself into the cause for which the rest of her family fought.

_If Mum really believes that, she deserves to be lied to._

Her chance came several days after her birthday, when the summer holidays were waning, and it was almost time to pack her trunk and return to school. And the Carrows. The scar on her shoulder twitched a little when she thought about Hogwarts, and she almost walked right by Moody sitting at the kitchen table, her mother nowhere in sight.

Not only was Molly Weasley not in sight, but Ginny knew for a fact that she'd be gone for at least another hour.

She paused outside the door to the kitchen, watching him carefully. Moody looked a lot older than the last time she'd seen him. A livid scar slashed across his cheek, joining the rest of his souvenirs from the war with Voldemort, and from being an Auror. He rubbed his knee, his mouth falling open in what Ginny knew to be a private gesture of pain.

Not wanting to watch, she strode in. "Mr. Moody," she said differentially, not knowing quite what to call him? Mad-Eye seemed too informal... she couldn't exactly call him Professor Moody -- he'd never actually been her professor.

"Call me Mad-Eye," he said gruffly, not even looking at her.

_Just do it._

"I want to join the Order of the Phoenix," Ginny said strongly. He didn't look at her, and annoyance rose up inside her. "I'm seventeen years old, and I know you wanted an insider's perspective at Hogwarts -- and not a professor's -- which is why you let Neville and the others join last year. And I want to do the same this year. I--"

"Your mother said you weren't interested," Mad-Eye said, keeping his eyes on his knee. "Says you don't talk about it anymore. If this is some frivolous--"

"I am _not_ frivolous," Ginny said sharply. The Burrow's kitchen seemed very small and hot all of a sudden; the back of her neck burned, as did the tips of her ears. "I've been wanting to join for years. My mother doesn't seem to think I'm capable of it," she added bitterly. Moody turned his head, an unreadable expression in his eyes. "I've been part of Dumbledore's Army since my fourth year; I fought at the Ministry of Magic--"

"You don't need to list your qualifications to me, Ginevra--"

"Call me Ginny--"

"Ginny, then," he said. "The fact of the matter is, your mother would kill me--"

"I don't care about my mother!" Ginny almost yelled. "I'm of age, and I'm _damned_ sick and tired of hearing about everyone I love dying and in danger while I'm protected!" She blew out a furious breath, certain that her cheeks were bright red. Fred and George's words echoed back at her.

_Prove Mum wrong, Gin._

Yeah. She hasn't a clue what you're capable of.

Maybe you should show her your Bat-Bogey Hex. She'd come around, then.

"All right," said Moody.

"What?" Ginny said blankly. "What? All right? You're going to let me join?"

"It isn't all fun and games, but I expect you know that," he said, magical eye whizzing around before coming to rest on her. She remained motionless under the scrutiny. "And you'll have to agree to certain terms -- that's what I've come to talk to your mother about, and your father -- that may seem... restrictive to you. I got the idea from Harry's house-elf..."

"I'll do anything," said Ginny.

***********************

02 September 1998

Surprisingly, it was Hermione that objected most strongly to Mad-Eye Moody's new security measures. Harry had been a little taken aback, Ron had grimaced but didn't have a strong opinion either way.

Hermione was still raging, two hours later. "It's completely ludicrous," she said scathingly. Harry was glad that she wasn't still pacing back and forth -- the relentless motion around the otherwise empty war room at Grimmauld Place had begun to make him dizzy. "There's no reason why--"

"Dedalus Diggle," Harry said quietly. It was true that the measures were harsh. But Moody's increased paranoia had been in direct response to Dedalus Diggle being taken by the Enforcers, handed over to the Death Eaters, and killed. But before Diggle had died, the Enforcers had rounded up Diggle's sister, brother, and their families. No one had survived; in one night, an entire extended family had been wiped off the earth.

The Death Eaters and Enforcers (though Harry thought of them as one and the same) had begun to take extremely harsh members against any Order members they found.

"It's excessive," Hermione said after a moment's pause.

Harry could not argue that. Moody had confided in Harry that he'd been inspired by Kreacher's obedience to Harry. The compulsion charms on the house elf were very effective. And so too were the charms now placed on Order members. Harry's thoughts drifted, and he stared at the objects floating in mid-air around the room. Snakeskin had joined the diary and the ring, to Harry's grim satisfaction. Nagini had attempted to ambush him, Ron, and Hermione when they went to Godric's Hollow.

But Nagini had been the one to die.

"If this will better protect people, then I'm for it," said Harry.

"You realize that now you won't be able to talk to anyone about the Order--"

"Who would we talk to?" Ron asked.

"Your parents, for one," Hermione shot back. "Remus, Tonks, Kingsley, Neville... our_friends._"

Ron stared broodingly down at his hands. Harry couldn't blame him. Ron's large family had lost two members, and the rest of them, they only saw sporadically. Percy was still apparently working for the Ministry (what he was doing with full ownership of WWW, Harry had no idea). Neither Harry, Ron, nor Hermione had even seen Ginny since they had left with the Order after Dumbledore's funeral. "I never see them anyway," Ron said. "My family, I mean."

"And now thanks to Moody, even if we _did_ run into them here, we still wouldn't have a clue who they were," Hermione told him.

"We haven't been here very often anyway," Ron argued. "I've only seen Dad here once..."

Harry couldn't lie. The idea of the two charms Moody had placed over them was slightly disturbing. The first charm ensured that they would _always_ be in disguise whenever they were carrying out Order business. The second stopped them from speaking about the Order. _The charms are absolute,_ Moody had said. _It's the same kind of thing with the house-elves. Except that you won't be able to break it... there will be no need to punish yourselves for disobeying. You simply won't be able to do it._

If Order members were caught by Death Eaters or Enforcers, they would not be able to tell them anything. And the Death Eaters would have no idea who they were, so there would be no chance for repercussions to befall innocents.

Moody's methods were extreme, but Harry couldn't fault his reasoning. He leaned back in his chair. "We don't have a choice, Hermione," Harry told her. "The charms have already been cast on us."

"And at least we can still talk to each other," said Ron.

Hermione's face set in mulish lines, and she flung her bushy hair away from her face. She looked very young, and Harry found it hard to believe that she would have her twentieth birthday in a few days.

"It's going to go badly," she announced.

"What else is new?" muttered Ron.

***********************

23 November 1998

Draco Malfoy's silvery hair stood out like a beacon. Ginny noticed it immediately, even though the sun was lowering itself behind the mountains surrounding Hogwarts. Suddenly, she was not in so much of a hurry. _What the hell is he doing here?_ Seeing him again was like having her stomach filled with acid, and she remembered that his father had been responsible for the wards around St. Mungo's -- Fred and George's deaths--

_Stop,_ she ordered herself. Breathing slowly through her nose, she watched as Draco made his way down the path toward the Forbidden Forest. Another figure joined him. Squinting, she recognized Amycus Carrow's lumpy nose and potato-shaped body, and for a moment, anger tingled across her skin.

In an instant, her decision was made, and she changed course. Instead of going to the Gryffindor common room like a good little girl, she turned on her heel and, bypassing a giggling crowd of first years, she headed toward the doors that led outside. The November air was cold and dipping down to frigid; goosebumps pebbled her skin, and she hugged her cloak tighter to her body, and hurried along in the direction of Malfoy and Carrow. Soon she was skirting the outside of the Forbidden Forest. The wind rustled in the leaves, and brought snatches of conversation to her ears.

"_He_ said that you were to do it alone, didn't he?" Carrow said smugly.

"Don't be a fool," was Malfoy's reply.

Ginny smiled grimly at the fear the bastard couldn't hide. Draco Malfoy had always been a coward; he took after his father, that bugger. The words drifted away from her and she edged closer, feeling the familiar compulsion to change her appearance. It was like Moody's voice yelling in her ear, and Ginny took a moment to marvel at the fact that she_had_ to obey it, even when she technically wasn't on official Order business. After she'd given herself the shifting form, she whispered the spell that would muffle her footsteps. She contemplated casting a Disillusionment Charm over herself, but night was coming fast, and she was far enough away from them to be safe.

She edged closer, hugging close to trees. Malfoy mumbled something as Carrow headed away from him, and a light flared suddenly. Ginny watched him look to the left and the right, and then behind him. His features were drawn in an unpleasant mix of anger, disdain, and fear. Then, uncertainly, he headed forward, deeper into the forest, his wandlight bobbing out in front of him.

The chill grew more intense, and Ginny realized that he must be giving a message to the dementors that guarded the school, ensuring that no one got in or out through the more conventional means. Grimacing (dementors were the creatures Ginny hated most besides Death Eaters), she continued on. The presence of the creatures grew stronger with every step, like a frozen weight on her chest.

She stopped when she was just close enough to hear Malfoy.

"--haven't found out for certain," Draco said, voice thready and thin. "But the Dark Lord is most displeased that someone so high up in the Ministry is a Mudblood."

A huge shadow loomed closer to Malfoy, causing his small light to flicker and die. But if the dementor answered him in words, Ginny couldn't hear it. She'd never actually heard one speak, but she thought they could.

Malfoy continued on. "A Mudblood at the Ministry after all this time... Father says that if_he_ had been appointed Minister instead of that fool Thicknesse, all the Mudbloods would've been weeded out months ago and--"

The dementor rattled and hissed.

Malfoy squeaked and jumped back. He automatically pretended that the motion was deliberate, and glanced down at his nails. "Father would have been an excellent Minister," he mumbled. "But the Dark Lord told me to tell you that if the kid's father is a Mudblood -- which we are almost certain he is -- then you can give the kid a Kiss."

Ginny clapped her hand over her mouth, revulsion rippling over her skin. _Give me the name of the kid, give me the name of the kid,_ she chanted.

Even though her command had been silent, Malfoy obeyed anyway. "Barrow is a first year," he said. "You can have his soul, the Dark Lord wants to make an example of him. But only if he's a Mudblood," Malfoy added hastily. "You mustn't take the souls of real wizards and witches... we should find out sometime tomorrow if that family tree was faked like Runcorn said it was..."

He was already backing away, hurriedly, practically tripping over his own feet.

Ginny followed him numbly, horrified at what she had just heard. _A first year,_ she kept repeating to herself. _Eleven years old, and they want to tear out his soul... make an example..._ It disgusted her, but at the same time it reinforced the fact that it was right to have joined the Order of the Phoenix, if only to save Barrow from a fate worse than death.

So intent was she on her thoughts that it was only very quick reflexes developed by hours on a broom dodging Bludgers that helped her dodge the first spell. Ginny dropped and the tree behind her burst into flame--

"I know you're there!" Malfoy shouted. "Come out -- you don't want to anger me, I'm a Death Eater!"

For a frozen instant, Ginny did nothing but crouch on the ground, listening to her own breath. He took three half steps toward her. _I can just take away his memories,_ she thought. The decision took an instant, and she stood, wand raised--

"_Crucio!_" he yelled.

And instead of stealing his memory of her or something similar, the sound of the Unforgivable coming from his lips on top of his indifference toward an eleven year old_child_, Ginny shrieked, "_Reducto!_" even as she dodged Malfoy's curse.

He was not as quick as she was. The force of her spell lifted him off his feet and sent him spinning backward, tumbling head over foot, grunting.

_Snap!_

His body hit the tree behind him with great force, and the moment it happened, Ginny knew that he was dead. Still, she waited, but the lump that was Draco Malfoy did not move, nor make a sound. She moved closer, considering the possibility that he could just be unconscious or even pretending, ready to ambush her if she drew close enough--

_No. He's dead._

Ginny didn't know why she was so certain, but she was...

Finally, she was close enough to see him. His eyes were open and sightless; his mouth gaped, and the side of his face was torn apart and bloody. His neck had almost snapped in two--

_I've killed him,_ Ginny thought, stunned. She'd killed him in one instant. Her spell, her wand.

She turned her head and vomited, and heaved up the contents of her stomach until it was completely empty, and she just retched. Pressing her hand to her lips, she realized that her entire body was trembling violently... she wanted nothing more than to sit down and let the tremors subside... but would they?

_Dead._

The word echoed in her head, and she didn't know how long she stood there, staring at the body, totally uncertain about how she should be feeling and acting. Her feet were rooted to the spot and it was almost as if she was just another tree in the Forbidden Forest... a silent witness and not a killer...

"I--" she said to no one. But she couldn't continue, and slowly it came to her that she needed to leave this place before someone else came along. Carrow might come looking for Draco... a centaur could come across this place, or the dementors could find them.

She lifted her feet -- they felt heavy and numb -- and took a step. And then another, and another until she was well on her way out of the forest, back to the castle, toward Barrow so that she could get him out of Hogwarts, and, most of all, away from Malfoy's body.

*******************

01 December 1998

**DRACO MALFOY, DEAD**  
Benjamin Linus

_A spokeswizard from the Enforcement Squad (see "Why Aurors Should Have Been Replaced by Enforcers a Long Time Ago," page 3) told the _Daily Prophet_ last night that Draco Malfoy, scion of Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy, and nephew to Bellatrix Lestrange, was killed at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. "We're not sure if it was a wild, magical creature or a member of the terrorist organization, the Order of the Phoenix," said Ethan Rom, head investigator on the sensational case. "It's almost certain that it was a rogue centaur, or even an acromantula, but it's best not to just assume, right? We've got to make sure it wasn't a wizard, right?"_

Severus Snape, Headmaster of Hogwarts, has, of course, taken a personal interest in the case. "There are no members of the Order of the Phoenix on Hogwarts grounds," he told us early this morning. "I would never tolerate it, and neither would the dementors. The Forbidden Forest has long been a place for violent magical creatures -- our former gameskeeper saw to that. It was a deeply unfortunate accident. If one wants to blame a human, blame Amycus Carrow, who allowed young Draco to seek out the dementors unescorted." When asked why Draco Malfoy was on the school grounds, Headmaster Snape only offered a succinct, "Ministry business."

As to Amycus Carrow--

"What do you want to bet old Lucius killed him?" Ron asked, sounding grimly satisfied.

Harry glanced at him out of the corner of his eye. The twins' deaths had shaken Ron deeply. Not that Ron would not have professed delight that Draco Malfoy was dead (and likely Amycus Carrow) before Fred and George had been caught in the web at St. Mungo's. But there was no hint of bravado on Ron's face or in his tone. He was not disturbed in the slightest at the deaths.

And neither was Harry. Draco was young, yes, but he'd murdered Dumbledore and who knew who else.

"Carrow will probably disappear, just like Scrimgeour did," observed Harry. It amazed him how little the _Daily Prophet_ managed to get right. None of the buggering reporters even bothered to investigate; they just repeated whatever line the Death Eaters and the Ministry told them.

"Another two down," Ron said casually, leaning up against the sofa and slinging his arm over the back of it.

Hermione let out a small sigh. Harry looked away when he saw the genuine worry on her face as she gazed at her boyfriend. It was too intimate, seeing her concern for Ron. She didn't say anything, for which Harry was grateful. Hermione had already expressed her opinion quite a lot over the past several months.

_Though she's been strangely silent ever since Tutshill,_ Harry thought. Almost two months prior, Moody had sent them on a mission to flush out a few Death Eaters who were engaged in illicit poison trade. It had ended with dueling in the air, during which Ron was responsible for the deaths of two Death Eaters. Ron had sat up outside the tent, keeping watch, for almost two days straight.

Harry ignored the pang in his stomach, though the stray thought that Ron was now a hero (according to Kingsley Shacklebolt) and very wealthy (thanks to Fred and George's will) crossed his mind. It made him strangely sad that Ron had gotten what he'd thought he wanted for so long, only to find it as empty as Harry did.

"Where are you going?" Hermione asked, startled.

Harry blinked, completely unaware that he'd stood up. "Er -- out," he told her, ruffling his hair. "Just... outside."

"Going to go push out a few tears over Malfoy?" Ron asked.

"Yeah, that's right," Harry grinned. "I wanted to have a good cry without you two looking on."

It was probably good that Harry had given the two of them some privacy; they got precious little of it, and were sometimes forced to do... whatever they did under the covers (Harry had no interest in finding out how far the couple had gotten) while he was actually in the room. Not for the first time, Harry wished that they could return to Grimmauld Place whenever they wanted. That way Hermione could help Ron with his aggression without Harry having to listen to it.

But not just that. He missed Grimmauld Place as it had been before Moody had placed the compulsion charms on them. Two little spells, and all the camaraderie had gone out of the Order. Even if they went back to Sirius' old home, they wouldn't know the people who were there.

Harry sat down, cross-legged, outside the entrance of the tent and looked into the night.

********************

17 December 1998

Harry, Ron, and Hermione had not heard word from anyone. Moody did not attempt to contact them, and their little tent was so full of tension and the desire to _act_, to do something -- _anything_ -- that Harry had a nearly constant headache.

"I wish we could just fucking do something!" Ron said loudly. He paced the tent like a caged tiger, in constant motion.

Harry stared moodily at his wand, feeling Hermione's stern gaze on the back of his neck. Harry wanted to start talking loudly and venting his frustration, too. But they couldn't both go off at the same time. The last time they'd both lost their tempers -- at the situation, not at each other -- they'd blown up the section of forest they'd been living in.

Apparently, that was a bad thing.

According to Hermione.

The feeling of dissatisfaction just kept growing, with every moment they spent trapped in the tent, and not out whittling away at Voldemort's forces, or looking for the damn Horcruxes. It hit Ron especially hard, Harry knew. But that didn't mean that he should be forced to always hold in his temper--

"I agree, Ron," Harry said firmly.

"Harry--" Hermione said warningly.

"I just think that--"

"I _know_," Harry cut across him. "You want to be out doing something, destroying You-Know-Who, not sitting in this little tent--"

"Listen--"

"It's fucking mental," Ron fairly roared. "We're sitting here having tea and biscuits while -- while... people are getting killed." He grabbed the cup off the little wooden table, and pretended to sip at it. "Yes, Ronald," he said in a shrill voice. "Let's have another cup... You-Know-Who has his ugly hands wrapped around our throats, but let's have some tea--"

Harry knew it was bad when Ron started mocking random things. Especially when it was food related, something Ron generally took very seriously.

"It's better than not having anything," Hermione pointed out fairly.

This did not help. Harry could have told her it wouldn't have.

"Yeah, and let's think of who doesn't have anything," Ron said scornfully. "Muggleborns, Muggles, members of the Order, I'm sure--"

"You aren't the only one who wants to take action!" Hermione said.

Harry almost fell off his chair. Without him knowing it, Hermione had apparently lost her temper right along with Ron. High spots of color had appeared in her cheeks, and her eyes flashed dangerously. Even her hair seemed bushier than ever, as though Hermione's rage had made it stand up on ends.

"Well, you're the one constantly holding us back--"

"Oh, is that it, Ron?" Hermione asked snidely. "Am I keeping you from going out and doing something rash because I'm bossy, or a know-it-all?"

Harry winced, wishing that the tent was large enough so that he could make a full retreat. The awful sarcasm in her voice never boded well, and Harry wished he didn't have to be in such close proximity to both the fighting, and then the inevitable make-up sex. Glumly, he realized that he was going to have a very long night, huddled outside keeping watch.

"You're a--"

"Shut up!" Ron snapped, holding up his hand.

"Don't you--"

"I mean it," he said. "_Listen._"

Blinking, Harry turned to where Ron was now pointing: toward the flap of the tent. Snatches of a conversation reached his ears, and Harry's heart immediately started thudding with excitement. Adrenaline surged through his body, and he exchanged a grin with Ron.

"--still get paid?"

"I assume so," said a man.

"They'd better," said the first voice, huffing. "I hate the Enforcers--"

Unbelievably, Harry felt disappointed that whoever was talking was against the Enforcers--

"They're always stealing pay from us," the second man agreed. "Just glorified bloody Aurors, if you ask me. When's the last time they rounded up a Mudblood, eh? No, it's the cushy jobs for them--"

"Arses," the first man spat.

"Snatchers," Ron said happily.

"Don't go charging out yet," Hermione said, all anger faded from her voice. "_Homenum Revelio,_" she whispered the spell that would tell them how many people were outside their tent. Despite the fact that the protective charms around the tent were obviously working, she did not speak again, but held up two fingers. And almost without thinking about it, Harry lifted his wand and cast the charm that would give his appearance a fluidity... he would not be recognized...

"Let's go," said Ron, after he too had changed his appearance. Hermione was a second behind the two of them, but less than a minute after they'd heard the Snatchers, they were ready to fight.

The Snatchers were not quite as stupid as they sounded. As soon as Harry, Ron, and Hermione stepped across the protective charms surrounding the tent, one of the Snatchers ducked, and the second sent a curse at them. Ron pulled Hermione out of the way just in time: Instead of hitting her, it sailed off into the trees.

"_Stupefy!_" shouted Harry. The man who had crouched down did not roll away in time. His body fell over heavily, knocking into the second man's knees, distracting him enough that Ron's curse struck him right in the belly. With a little moan of pain, the man's broad face crumpled, and he scrabbled at his stomach before he too fell to the ground.

"That was George's favorite curse," Ron said, kicking out and catching the stunned man in knee. He didn't move.

Harry sniffed, and made a disgusted face. The smell of feces was suddenly very strong. "Why am I not surprised that George's favorite curse would make someone shit themselves?" Harry asked.

Ron's smile didn't reach his eyes. "You should see Fred's favorite..."

"What are we going to do with them?" Hermione asked, nose wrinkled, and obviously breathing through her mouth. "We're not going to kill them," she added.

"Snap their wands," said Ron.

"We need to take them out, though," Harry said thoughtfully. He hated the idea of killing two men in cold blood -- he wouldn't ever do that -- but he also didn't want to just let them go back to being Snatchers, and a part of Voldemort's force. "Otherwise we might as well have just stayed in the tent."

"Do you think they'd know who killed Fred and George?" Ron asked casually.

"We can question them," Hermione pointed out.

Harry stared at her, considering. What if... "What if we did to them what you did to your parents?" Harry asked. "After we question them, we can just give them different--"

"--Identities?" Hermione said. "It's a thought... but it'll take quite some time. Charms like that are easily broken if they aren't thorough enough. And I'd really like to brush up on the theory of it -- oh, I wish we could talk to Snape, he'd know exactly how to go about it--"

"I just want to find out who killed them," Ron said grimly.

***************************

08 January 1999

**ENFORCERS TO BUILD NEW COMPOUND**  
Ben Linus

_Minister Thicknesse announced today that the problem of over-crowding in the Enforcer Department at the Ministry of Magic has been solved. Instead of not accepting new applicants -- an idea that frightens many of us (see "The Best Defense is a Good Offense," page 5) -- the Enforcers have acquired a small island, where they will train, house, and office the enterprising young wizards and witches, who have decided to dedicate their lives to the safety of the Wizarding World._

"It's already being built," said John Dawlish, now Head of the Enforcer Department. "This plan has been in the works since Madam Lestrange began recruiting for our new department. She's very persuasive, and we knew that wizards and witches would want to join up. It was inevitable." While the exact name of the island will not be disclosed, it is in the Orkney Island chain. Enforcer Headquarters will remain at the Ministry of Magic, but the majority of the operations will take place from the new compound.

"I think it's a really good idea," said Neville Longbottom, who has been an Enforcer since his graduation from Hogwarts. "It's gotten a bit crowded down at the Ministry." He described working in two hour shifts, and the fact that not every Enforcer is able to have a desk, but must share with three to six other people. In fact (continued on page 3)

*************************

13 February 1999

"Remind me why St. Mungo's is so bloody important," Neville muttered.

The corridors echoed with their footsteps. Neville was no stranger to the hospital -- he had visited his parents often throughout the years, not to mention he'd earned a bed of his own with all of his childish mishaps -- but it was damn eerie to see it so empty. This was his sixth time patrolling the halls, and it still struck him. Three quarters of the rooms were empty. A lot of the healers had left, either because they were Muggleborn, or because they refused to work under You-Know-Who's conditions.

"Didn't they go over that in training?" Enforcer Lucas Savage looked over at him.

Neville scrubbed a hand over his face, exhausted just thinking about the almost four months of daily hell. "A bit," he admitted. Mostly it had been defensive and offensive magic, duel practice, stealthiness, and all the other skills that being an Enforcer required.

"That's right," said Savage. "I forgot that they don't exactly teach current events in the classroom--"

"It wasn't a classroom," said Neville. "It was an old courtroom at the Ministry, and we--"

"Trifles," Savage said. "I know you got the same training I did," he added. "Enforcer training is almost the same as Auror training, and we sure as hell didn't learn about current events," he told him. "Not that there was much to talk about when I was in training, but..." his voice trailed away, and Neville kept his gaze fixed on the far wall. They moved steadily forward, wands held out.

"Enforcer Dawlish allowed me to use his training manual," Neville offered, when he realized that Savage was wary of _him_. It was laughable, that an Enforcer was afraid of saying something treasonous to an undercover member of the Order of the Phoenix.

"Regardless," Savage said strongly. "Listen," he stopped in the middle of the hall. A mediwitch peered around the corner, eyeing them, before disappearing again. "St. Mungo's is almost as important as even the Ministry or Hogwarts in terms of strategic importance. The Ministry, because that's where the government is"--Neville highly doubted that. Thicknesse may be the Minister, but Voldemort was in charge. Wherever_he_ was, there was the government--"and if any... terrorist organization got control of it--"

Which was, in Neville's mind, exactly what had happened.

"--that would give them a huge advantage," Savage continued. He opened a door, and then pulled it closed after checking to make sure no one was lurking in an empty room. "Hogwarts is another place of importance, and not just because the Undesirable Number One is somewhat likely to return there, but because it is a place where habits and ideas are formed, and knowledge is imparted. Which is why we have security there almost as tight as here at St. Mungo's, and why we have those closely aligned with the power in this country teaching sensitive subjects."

Neville had to admire how delicately Savage put it. Alecto Carrow was closely aligned with the power in this country, all right -- she was a Death Eater. And her brother had been replaced with another Death Eater. Defense Against the Dark Arts was no more; the Dark Arts reigned. First years were learning in Muggle Studies that those without magic were inferior, and not even human. It made him sick.

"And St. Mungo's?" Neville asked easily. They reached the end of the corridor and turned, almost as one.

"St. Mungo's has healing supplies, potions, and other things that anyone hoping to fight in a war would need," Savage said simply. "Not only that, but consider the location. London -- near the Ministry of Magic. If a... terrorist organization was to seize control of it, it not only has the supplies it needs to keep going, but it has an advantageous location as well. Which is why we have so many different wards surrounding the place--"

"Wards?" Neville asked, surprised. He'd only heard of one here: the Web, as Seamus Finnegan had called it.

"Only one of them is really used," said Savage. "The rest are only there as a back up plan. No one wants to explain to _him_ that we let his enemies in."

Neville nodded, wondering if Voldemort's allies were actually more afraid of him than his enemies.


	3. Tangled Webs

09 June 1999

The dirty street was deserted except for two figures standing very still in the mist and shadows, staring at the ugly façade of a department store that was permanently "closed for renovations." The witch pulled her cloak in tighter around her body, shivering. The Muggles would think the mist almost natural for June in Britain – London fog, and all that – but the chill of it went deeper than the bones.

Harry Potter kept his gaze fixed on the entrance to St. Mungo's. Nothing else really mattered to him, at the moment. The mist that meant a heavy presence of dementors didn't faze him, except to make his determination deeper and colder. Ron Weasley was hurt, dying even, and without one simple potion, Hermione wouldn't be able to keep him alive after another three days.

Before Voldemort had taken over the Ministry almost exactly two years before, antidotes for poisons and curses had been easy to get. But now that the people in power were the ones to do the poisoning and cursing, even things like Skele-Gro were held under lock and key. And Ron needed to have several of his internal organs re-grown.

Pearly white light shimmered over the ground and then coalesced into a long line, like an electrical cord, in front of the entrance to St. Mungo's. _Well done,_ Harry thought grimly, congratulating the unknown Curse-Breaker who was helping them with their task.

He gripped the witch's arm tightly and started pulling her across the road. They would have five seconds to cross the line without tripping the wards. Harry did not want to think about how complicated it was for the Curse-Breaker – maybe it was even Bill Weasley – to let down the wards enough to cross, but at the same time preserving them. The Death Eaters might find it a little suspicious to find all their protective measures gone.

"Let's go," he said unnecessarily.

The witch didn't say anything. He couldn't blame her.

For a bare second, they stood with one foot over the line and one foot before it. All the hair on Harry's arms stood straight up, and a horrible tingle passed over his body. It felt similar to having the flu, and being unable to stand the touch of someone's hand or even clothes, because the skin was so sensitive.

The witch sucked in a breath.

_The witch._ Inwardly, Harry grimaced at the fact he had no clue whatsoever who this person was. It was quite possible that he could die tonight, and still he had no idea who he would be dying with. At least with Ron and Hermione, he always knew who they were. Mad-Eye wouldn't have dared break up their team; he hadn't even wanted to.

But Harry couldn't ignore the fact that he was partially to blame for these stringent security concerns, though he only felt a vague, dim sort of guilt. He hadn't known the dangers of speaking a secret out loud, and Dumbledore had died (felled by a poisoned bottle of oak-matured mead – that still seemed ludicrous to Harry, that the greatest wizard of the age had been killed by _Draco Malfoy_, of all people) before he could warn Harry.

So Harry had told the Order of the Phoenix of the task… and Order members – his stomach felt heavy when he thought of Dedalus and the way he had died – had been tortured. Voldemort knew what they knew, for the most part, and it was really only through the paranoia of Mad-Eye Moody that they were able to keep going.

Harry glanced again at the witch beside him, thinking of Moody's stringent security measures; he sometimes liked to make a game of it (not that he was often sent on missions without Ron and Hermione, but that was the point of why he was breaking into St. Mungo's tonight), trying to guess the identity of his partner. But her appearance was too fluid to do so. One moment he had the impression that her eyes were blue, and she had a pixie-cut, and the next, her hair reached the middle of her back, and her eyes were a warm brown.

It was dizzying to watch, so Harry had to look away.

"Are you all right?" he asked gruffly.

"Yeah," she whispered, nodding, even though they were surrounded by a Silencing Charm. As long as they remained in contact – she had her arm looped through his – they could speak as loudly as they wanted to each other, and no one else could hear them.

Both of them stood just over the shimmering line, which slowly faded and disappeared, signifying that the wards were up again fully; they were trapped. And to be trapped here in the wards was basically a death sentence, Harry knew. Several members of the Order of the Phoenix had died here.

Fred and George Weasley, included.

It was as though a hot poker had been applied to his intestines. It had been over a year since Fred and George had died, but being here just brought it all back. What was worse was that Harry could envision how it must have happened. Fred and George must have been too slow, too suspicious. The wards had been activated, and they'd been trapped in a web of magic, unable to free themselves. And then the Death Eaters, like poisonous spiders, came and killed them.

Harry no longer stopped to consider the ramifications of a hospital being more heavily guarded than the Ministry of Magic (Harry knew this for certain -- he, Ron, and Hermione had broken into it just last week to retrieve the locket Horcrux). The Death Eaters were running amok in the country; it only seemed natural that not only did they steal the lives of fathers and mothers and children, but that they tightly control access to healing.

"Those assholes are just hard to believe," the witch said in a low, fierce voice.

"Who?" he asked, already turned to stare at the window that would lead them to the inside of St. Mungo's.

She waved her arm expansively. "It seems like a hospital should be neutral territory," she said. But before Harry could ask her what world she lived in and whether it was possible to Floo or Apparate or take a Portkey to this reality, she added, "Not this world, though, eh?"

"Nope," Harry answered. She stepped forward through the barrier first, this time pulling_him_ along.

Once inside, both of them were very quiet. It was very simple: if anything went wrong badly enough, they would die. Harry briefly wondered (as he had since Moody had implemented the 'No Charm, No Mission' policy) if they got caught now, whether the Death Eaters would kill him, or if the prophecy hanging over his head acted as a shield, and he could only be killed by Voldemort.

The witch jerked him suddenly to the side. "Death Eater," she breathed. Harry swiveled his head up and down the corridor. A man in a black cloak lounged against a wall, speaking to someone Harry couldn't see. _Probably chatting up a mediwitch,_ he thought.

"Let's just keep going," he said firmly.

She paused for a moment. "All right," she said.

Harry couldn't believe that Moody had placed him with someone obviously inexperienced. "Listen," he said. He really didn't have the time to hold her hand through a dangerous situation. Ron's life was at stake. "If you're scared, you can stay here. Because I really don't need to babysit--"

"I'm not scared," she replied. "I just think it might be a good plan to cast an Obfuscation Charm after us. I thought, oh, I don't know, maybe it would be a good idea to maybe protect ourselves a little more? Especially now that we _know_ there are Death Eaters or Enforcers in the building?"

Harry grimaced inwardly. It had been a very long time since anyone had actually called him on anything. And this witch had been just as firm about it as Ginny Weasley had always been. While he'd been thinking about it, the witch had cast the charm, attaching it to a nearby doorknob, so that anyone who passed it would feel a very gentle sort of confusion.

"I--"

"No time for apologies," she said breezily, marching forward.

Harry followed her, scowling.

The potions supply room was located in the basement, only reachable by stairs; from the first floor, the lift only went up. The stairs were stone, and the walls damp and cold. No portraits hung here; very few hung in St. Mungo's at all anymore. Most had been exiled to a storage room for insurrection, Harry had been told.

"The point of no return," the witch said softly.

"Yep," Harry agreed. If they were caught here, they were dead. _Think of Ron. Ron is_definitely_ dead unless you get the antidote._ He pushed away the part of him that was afraid, and didn't hesitate as he continued down the stairs and into the basement. It was more well lit than he expected -- it was more similar a level in the Ministry of Magic than the dungeons at Hogwarts.

Somehow, without even being aware of it, Harry's hand had slid from her elbow to her hand. Her palms were damp. It suddenly struck him as slightly funny that the first time he held hands with a girl since Cho Chang, it was while in the bowels of a hospital while on a dangerous mission. And he didn't even know the girl's name.

_Maybe Hermione is right,_ Harry thought. _Maybe I_ have _gotten jaded._

The witch twisted her head around, looking behind him, and distracted him from his thoughts and brought him back to reality. "It's clear," she said. Her voice trembled a little. It was only then that Harry realized they stood in front of the potions room.

_I'm the inexperienced one,_ Harry thought ruefully. Or maybe he was just reckless. Finding the Horcrux had been great for about an hour, and then Harry had realized how much further they had to go. The unknown Horcrux was still exactly that: unknown. And...

He silently cast the spells that would alert him to lurking dangers, and then opened the door. Begrudgingly, he said a silent thank you to Severus Snape, who had imperfectly cast the security charms on the door in the first place, making it simple to get in.

She shut the door behind them.

"Right," he said in a normal voice. "We're looking for Argamenthumus. I'm told it's in a small phial - not one of the large ones - and it's a smoky blue color. And it bubbles," he added helpfully.

They set to work straightaway. Harry glanced down at his watch, grimacing. They only had seven and a half minutes until they had to cross the wards outside again. "I'll look over here," he said, gesturing.

The witch shrugged, and let go of his hand. Immediately, a rushing filled his ears and subsided. He wouldn't be able to hear her until they had physical contact again. Shaking his head, he strode over to the nearest shelf, and began scanning the names on the bottles, wishing he could just use his magic to summon it, but knowing it was inadvisable. Using magic in the supply room would set off all sorts of alarms.

_Draught of Peace._

Limmertentia.

Rigorfis.

The titles blurred and he read quickly, and it was only through chance that he saw the witch make a hurried movement out the corner of his eye, and watched as a large phial full of bright orange liquid fell to the floor, shattering.

The witch hopped backward, and Harry met her in the middle of the room, catching her by the elbow. "All right?" he asked.

"Fine," she said. "I've -- _damn_, my leg is cut."

They both stared down at the rapidly spreading stain; Harry's dismay grew. They couldn't risk using magic--

As though reading his mind, the witch knelt and began to scoop the liquid in cupped hands, and sweeping it under the shelf. This was unnecessary, however. It immediately began to change color to match the stone floor. Relief bubbled up in his stomach. If it would _stay_ hidden, then they'd be in the clear.

"Well, that was lucky," the witch said, staring down at her hands.

But Harry was already returning to his side of the room. Bottle after bottle, phial after phial, swam in front of his eyes. He was so solely focused on finding Ron's antitode, the potion that was save his life, that when the witch tapped him on the shoulder, he jumped a mile.

"Watch it!" she said fiercely. She held out a small phial with smoky blue liquid bubbling inside it. "I've got it."

Harry stared at it, slightly alarmed to feel his eyes sting. _Save it for later,_ Harry told himself sternly. _Save it for when Ron's got all his internal organs again._

"Let's go!" she said urgently, tugging at him. "We've only got two minutes to get out!"

Harry shook himself and practically flew out of the room, pulling her behind him, and speeding toward the stairs.

But they were already too late. They were only halfway to the entrance when their time ran out. Both their wands made the sound of a gong which only they could hear.

And they were trapped.

**************************

***(Missing scene in which they run and go hide in a closet)***

Harry had to admit that, despite himself, the witch's (and he was going to have to start thinking of her as something else, a nickname, if only inside his head), chatter was keeping his mind off things like Ron dying, and being trapped at St. Mungo's, and actually having one hand wrapped around her ankle and the other around a small phial of the potion that would re-grow Ron's internal organs. It didn't make these things go away, just easier to bear.

_Babble, maybe,_ he thought. _Or Chatter._

She poked him in the leg. "You didn't answer my question," she said, exasperated.

"I didn't know you stopped talking," Harry retorted.

"I've decided to call you _Grumpy_," she said darkly, making a face at him. "As a friendly little nickname, you see," she hurried to clarify.

"Friendly?" Harry arched his brow, but couldn't help but smile.

"Perhaps _Taciturn_ or _Brooder_ would work better," she spoke as though he had not said anything. She affected a thoughtful mien, pursing her lips and stroking her chin. Despite their situation – and the fact that she now appeared to be insulting him – Harry was amused.

"I've been calling you _Nosy_ in my head for the last hour," he told her, lying. A small part of him sort of wanted to offend her, but he was happy when her lips twitched.

Still, he was slightly afraid when she drew her wand. But instead of hexing him, she tapped him on both shoulders and then the top of the head. For a brief instant, he thought she was completely foolhardy, and had no concept of why Moody would allow her in the field. But when she withdrew her hand, Harry saw it tremble. And her jaw wasn't so much set as it was clenched.

"I dub thee _Grumpy_," she said quietly. "Now. Are you going to answer my question?"

"What was it?" he asked begrudgingly. He'd already been forced to answer whether he preferred boxers or briefs, though, so he didn't feel it could get that much worse.

"If you were – do you know what the Mirror of Erised is?" she asked.

"Yes," he said slowly. It actually _could_ get more personal.

"What would you see if you were standing in front of it?"

Harry wanted to blow off her question, but the more he looked at her face, the more he realized how wary and frightened she was. And she was talking to alleviate her fears, and it was distracting both of them. In a good way. Harry was almost painfully aware of every little sound; he didn't need to feel any more intense. He might explode.

But how the hell would he answer the question? An image of Ron rose up in his head. He wanted his best mate to be better; he did not want to see Ron's ghastly pale skin, or hear his thready, weakening voice. But was that his heart's desire? Where would that leave all of them? Right back to where they were a week ago, before Ron had been cursed, with two Horcruxes left, but having no idea where or what they were.

Would he see himself destroying those unknown Horcruxes? Or show him finally defeating Voldemort? It seemed, in a way, that his heart's desire was so impossible that he couldn't even desire it, not anymore. _Maybe seeing Voldemort's dead body,_ Harry thought.

"Socks," he said finally. _If Dumbledore can lie about it, why can't I?_ "I'd see myself holding a thick pair of wool socks."

She knew he was lying. He knew that she knew he was lying. But she didn't challenge him or make a big deal about it. Amazingly, some of the icy fear in his belly that had nothing to do with being trapped at St. Mungo's, melted a little. Harry was just preparing himself to ask her the same question – really, it was only polite – when she made it easy on him.

"I think I'd see everything the way it used to be," she said quietly, looking down at her robes, and plucking at them with slim fingers. Her throat worked. Harry suspected that she might be struggling against Mad-Eyes safety charms, and might have revealed something that gave away her background or her name. "Just the way it used to be. Maybe even better," she finished.

Something in the slump of her shoulders and the sound of her voice told Harry that she felt the same way he did: weary. Like she was just as tired as he was. Tonight was the most he'd cared about a mission in months, because Ron's life was at stake, but a lot of the time, he just wanted to be at the finish line already, come what may. He was so _tired_of jumping over hurdles and whittling away at Voldemort in tiny increments.

"It just sometimes seems like it'll never end," she shrugged, echoing his thoughts. "And we'll never be able to just go home."

For the first time, it struck Harry that this witch (_Nosy,_ he thought) was probably his age – maybe she'd even been in Dumbledore's Army. Which meant that she was young, and maybe even longed for her home the way he longed for the Burrow. For some inexplicable reason, he didn't want Nosy to feel the way he did. "We'll all be able to go home eventually, Nosy," he said robustly.

She snorted. "Nice try, Grumpy," she said dryly, hooking her hair over her ears. "But I've already learned that not everyone gets to go home, and even when they do, it's different. Now, I'm just hoping that when all is said and done, I'm not the only person who calls the same place home," she added.

Harry's gut twisted painfully. He had no clue what it was about this dark closet in the middle of enemy territory, but he was suddenly feeling things that he hadn't. Not for a while. The Burrow wasn't even his home, not really, but it was the closest thing he had to it. And already three people were missing – Fred and George had died, and Percy was estranged.

His hand dipped into his pocket, feeling around for the small phial of potion. He gripped it tightly with a palm that was suddenly slick with sweat. If Ron died…

He didn't want to lose any of the other Weasleys, but Ginny and Ron were the ones… he didn't even want to think about it. But he had to. Ginny was safe at Hogwarts, he knew, probably resenting the hell out of all of them, but if she'd joined the Order, it would've killed Mrs. Weasley. But Ron… Ron was dying, unless Harry got this potion to him on time.

Remarkably, he hadn't stopped to consider what it would mean if he didn't get to it in time. He took deep, even breaths.

"I want the same thing," he said quietly. Her thumb stroked his hand gently, and he stared at it. Hermione and Ron were always touching each other, comforting each other, and Harry had never really understood why. Now he did.

A small, warm hand closed over his forearm. Nosy had shifted her body to scoot closer to him without him even being aware of it. "It's personal, isn't it?" she asked, indeterminately-colored eyes wide in her subtly shifting face. "The potion. It isn't just a – a mission Mad-Eye sent you on, is it?"

He shook his head. "No. Not just another mission." To his own surprise, he found himself opening his mouth to tell her it was his best mate at stake; but Moody's enchantment prevented him from getting any words out. _That's a bit frustrating,_ he scowled. Harry was so used to the privilege of knowing he was with Ron and Hermione that it was deeply annoying to have restrictions.

"I can't tell you why," she whispered. Harry looked over at her; her expression must match his. Struggling against Moody's charm, probably, though he didn't know why.

"Tell me why what?" Harry asked, confused.

"Why we're closer to victory," she said. "We _are_ closer than we were before even last week—"

Harry knew this, already; they'd found a Horcrux last week, finally. But still. Harry didn't think that that kind of information was given to random members of the Order of the Phoenix. He eyed Nosy appraisingly; Moody must trust her an awful lot if she knew about it.

Mad-Eye did _not_ hand out information like this like Chocolate Frogs.

"We are closer," she said again. "Listen – do you know Harry Potter?"

"Do you?" Harry countered.

"Sort of," she said, after a moment's hesitation. "I know enough about him to know that he isn't going to give up. He – he won't let You-Know-Who win."

Harry opened his mouth, but had no idea what to say. _I'm tired of fighting. I want to go home, too._ He wanted to tell her that he was only human, and he'd do the best he could, but Voldemort might win, and it wasn't fair of her to assume that he could do it. But at the same time, it wasn't just Moody's charm that stilled his tongue, but it was an unexpected balm, to know that someone had such faith in him.

Blind faith, yes, but—

His thoughts were abruptly halted by a most unwelcome sound: heavy footfall outside their closet. Time seemed to slow, and Harry gripped his wand tightly. Nosy's fingertips convulsed and dug into his skin. But a shushing sound told him that she too prepared to cast a spell as soon as the door opened.

His heart beat heavily in his chest. He could feel Nosy's increased heartbeat too, as she pressed tightly against him, whether for comfort or for better aim, he wasn't sure. _If they open the door, they still can't hear us or see us,_ Harry reminded himself. But if whoever it was stepped inside just a little, they would know someone was there. And if whoever it was actually sought Harry and Nosy…

_Step. Step. Step._

Something clattered to the floor.

"Shit," someone muttered, muffled through the door. "Of all the god damn – I'm _coming_! Hold your hippogriffs," he said in a low, resentful voice.

Harry's breathing slowed down as the footsteps retreated again. He glanced down at his watch. Two hours left until Moody promised to have the wards crossable again. His nerves gradually settled and he swallowed hard, turning his head to see if Nosy was all right.

She was very close. "That was…" she breathed.

But Harry kissed her before she could finish her sentence. He didn't know where the impulse came from, or why his brain had suddenly turned off. Perhaps it was a combination of danger, conversation, camaraderie, and the fact that she seemed to have faith in him. Or maybe it was just because she smelled good – Harry couldn't pinpoint the scent, that fell under 'defining characteristics' and Moody's charm took care of that, but he knew that he liked it, whatever it was.

After several seconds, and a shocked inhale of breath, she kissed him back, moving her lips underneath his. Nosy slipped her tongue into his mouth, and quite suddenly, they just weren't close enough. Harry tugged at her arm and pulled her into his lap, not caring that he was hard and surely she could feel it. He didn't even spare a thought to how his arousal had even happened without him even being truly aware of it.

She pressed herself against him and he swore.

They rubbed against each other almost violently. The air felt heavy and thick and there was a tightness in Harry's chest and back that hadn't been there. His hands slid up her sides up and down as they rocked against each other. Then they found her breasts, firm and full. He squeezed them gently, and she arched her back, moaning, and pulling her lips from his.

He licked her neck.

She whimpered, and then her hands came between their bodies and fumbled with the front of his trousers. Her fingers were not gentle, and he winced.

"Sorry," she muttered.

"Don't," he said. She finally got his trousers open. Harry wiggled, helping her free him, and he hissed when her hand wrapped around his penis, stroking it almost frantically.

He took his right hand off her breast, and without even thinking about it, slid her robes up, traced his finger along the silky smoothness of her thighs, and found the juncture of her thighs. She was hot and her knickers were damp and a dim part of Harry's mind was amazed that he could get a girl wet when he'd never done anything like this before.

Harry tried to concentrate on rubbing her and also on the way she was rubbing him, but found it difficult to do. Her thumb brushed against the tip of his penis and he shuddered. Nosy was telling him to do something, but he couldn't figure out what until she abruptly stood up halfway—

"No," he protested.

She didn't answer him but shuffled around. Harry heard a soft sound and he felt a twinge in his stomach when he heard soft cloth hit the floor. _Please let that be her knickers,_ he thought.

She straddled him again, and he could feel wet heat without a barrier. "Yes," he said.

"I've never—" she said breathlessly.

"Me either," Harry said. She wrapped her hand around him, and suddenly he was right there… pressing inward… now he was fully surrounded by warmth and wetness. _Move,_his body demanded. He rolled his hips.

"Hold still a second," she said, sounding uncomfortable.

It was agonizing to disobey what his body was ordering him to do. His breath came out in harsh pants. Nosy wrapped her arms around him, buried her head into his neck, and rocked against him. "You can move now," she whispered.

He groaned and thrust at the same time, instincts taking over as his hands went to her hips. But she didn't need any urging, not really. She rode him. Harry was a little embarrassed at how swiftly his orgasm was coming on him, even given the fact that sitting on the hard ground was not exactly comfortable. The pressure in his back built.

She leaned against him, forcing him to slide further down the wall, and she pressed down until Harry didn't think he could possibly get any deeper. She continued to move, and so did he, until his back felt like it was on fire from the effort of trying to keep it in, and breathy little cries escaped her mouth.

Nosy gasped and then he felt her _clench_ around him. Harry's last thought before he exploded inside her was that he hoped that clenching feeling around his penis was what it felt like when a witch had an orgasm. He grunted and thrust up into her with abandon, letting her body milk him.

Once his body calmed down, a wave of disorientation hit him. _I just had sex!_ But what was most stunning was that he didn't regret it. Maybe he would later, but as his breathing returned to normal, he was still inside Nosy, and he honestly couldn't remember the last time he felt this alive.

_Years._

"I can't believe that just happened," she said, sounding almost awed. Awed and strangely vulnerable.

"It's all right, Nosy," he said. And it really was all right, sort of. Or enough all right.

"Grumpy," she sighed.

"I don't feel so tired anymore," he admitted. It wasn't romantic, but he didn't feel romantic toward her. He felt… connected. The things that she'd said had resonated, and made him feel less lonely. And maybe that was pathetic, but… somehow through her words and maybe the sex, he'd… woken up.

"Me either," she said in a low voice. Harry got the feeling that she struggled with the regret-but-not-regret that he did. Slowly, deliberately, she slid off his lap and started groping around for her knickers.

Harry pulled his trousers back up.

Nosy sat down next to him, shoulder brushing against his. He could tell she was quivering. She drew her knees up to her chest and laid her head on them. Harry knew without seeing it or hearing it that she was crying. And for a brief, horrible instant he was transported back to his fifth year, and wondered if every girl he kissed would cry.

But then he realized that he wasn't that far from tears himself. It shocked the hell out of him – he couldn't remember the last time he cried. But he felt like he'd really lost something, beyond just his virginity, but that he'd gained something too. He didn't know which was worse.

Instead of giving in, though, he placed his hand on Nosy's back and rubbed circles.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I _never_ cry," she said fiercely. "The last time was right after—" but her words cut off abruptly. "It's been a while," she told him, sniffling just a little.

Harry didn't know what to say, so he was quiet.

************************

Four hours later, they were clear of St. Mungo's and standing once more outside the supposedly derelict building. Dawn was just beginning to touch the horizon, and the air had the hushed, still quality that came just before the sun. Harry gripped Nosy's hand tightly, and stole a look at her face. They weren't alone: Mad-Eye Moody, Severus Snape, and two others stood just across the street.

But her face did not register that she thought it odd that he was met with a welcoming committee, nor that the Order of the Phoenix had gone to great lengths to get them out of there. Harry knew that this was because of who he was, but Nosy didn't appear to realize this.

A part of him wanted her to know. They'd had sex with each other. Twice. And he wanted at least one of them to know the other's name. That way if the war ended, and they both survived, she could find him. If she wanted to. But Harry thought she might want to. Even if the first time had been heated and due to fear and hormones, the second time had been less feverish. Slower and gentler.

Harry definitely wanted to find Nosy again. After the war.

But there was no time to tell her so.

"Report," Mad-Eye said in his gruff voice. Snape and the others remained silent and stoic, hands clasped behind their backs.

Harry and Nosy tripped over themselves, explaining what had happened, why they had been too slow, how it had occurred that they had gotten themselves trapped. Harry had expected disappointment and annoyance from Mad-Eye. Instead, the old Auror's magical eye remained fixed on Harry's face, and he appeared to barely be listening.

"At least you got the potion," he said finally, looking at Nosy. He nodded crisply in her direction. "You may go."

"But I--"

"I have something to discuss with your temporary partner," Mad-Eye told her.

"I think you'd want me to--"

But Mad-Eye cut her off again, waving his arm impatiently as though shooing her away. "Later," he said heavily.

Nosy sighed, squeezed Harry's hand, and then slid hers out of his grasp. "I hope someone gives you lots of socks," she said, by way of farewell. Her ever-changing eyes were fixed on his.

"I hope you get to go home again," Harry said quietly. His face flushed, and he wanted to say something more, but couldn't. Not with four people around him. She gave him a lop-sided grin, spun on the spot, and Apparated away. Harry watched the empty spot for long seconds, wondering if he'd ever see her again, or find out her name.

"Who was she?" Harry asked.

Mad-Eye cut a glance at the people around them. "You know I'm not going to tell you that," he said evasively.

There was a strange flickering out of the corner of his eye, and Harry glanced at the two other people he didn't know, only to find that he did. Arthur and Bill Weasley suddenly stood before him, with odd expressions on their faces.

"Shouldn't we be going somewhere else?" Harry asked. It seemed too exposed here all of a sudden. He did not like the way everyone was looking at him, as though they had very bad news and had no clue how to tell him. He was even more deeply unsettled that Snape's expression was the same. His stomach curdled. "We have to -- is it Ron? What's happened?"

"Ron can wait a few moments longer," Arthur said quietly.

"It's time you were told the truth," said Mad-Eye. He gestured toward Harry's forehead. "About your scar, and your connection to You Know Who."


	4. Goodbye

09 June 1999

Hermione rifled through all the papers and books she'd dumped out of her bag several days ago, when Ron had first been wounded. _I'm not a Healer, I don't have the training, all I have are a few measly books,_ Hermione thought desperately. Ron moaned and shifted a little on the camp bed, face ghastly white.

_Think, think, think._

Ron looked sweaty, and when she touched him, he was clammy. Just to have something to do, she cast another charm that got rid of the sweat on his brow. Her fingers trembled, and she wondered how much longer she could do this. Harry was supposed to have been back hours ago! Dimly, she realized she should be worried for him... St. Mungo's was a death trap... but _Ron was dying._ Unless--

The flap of the tent opened. "I've got it," Harry said.

Hermione's stomach plummeted, though it shouldn't. Harry was here, and she was already snatching the phial out of his hands. "Give -- thank -- here," she said, mind swirling and reeling. It came as a sort of relief that Harry was obviously as upset as she was. She was almost afraid to touch it, and she forced herself to grip it firmly, though she kept imagining it slipping out of her grasp and shattering on the floor. More attentive than she had been to anything before in her life, she uncorked it and let it drip into Ron's mouth.

She did not speak a word -- and neither did Harry -- as long minutes passed. Watching Ron carefully, she waited for a sign, any sign, that he was getting better, that the potion was taking effect. Harry was obviously too disturbed to watch... she saw him sit beside Ron's bed in an empty chair and put his head in his hands, gripping his untidy hair. "Come on, Ron," she said, her voice sounding sharp and shrill even to her own ears. "Wake up, open your eyes." She repeated this over and over.

Then -- movement. Ron's hand moved over to hers, shaky and uncertain. "Er-my-knee," he said.

"Ron," Hermione breathed.

His eyes cracked open. "So..."

"Yes?" She said eagerly. He sounded as though he was about to make a request, for water, a bacon sandwich, or possibly something else.

"You're so..." he said again. "Bossy."

Harry let out a laugh that sounded like a sigh.

"I am not," Hermione said automatically. But her fingers were threading through his hair and then she was kissing his face, mindful that he might be in pain, but hoping that her kisses didn't hurt. "You almost died," she said. "I can't believe it... I can't believe--" but she couldn't continue. Words failed her. "Harry..."

"I'm glad you -- I'm glad you're all right, Ron," said Harry.

"St. Mungo's?" Ron asked.

Harry shrugged. "St. Mungo's was fine," he said. "Listen--"

"But what took you so long?" Hermione burst out. "You were gone for hours longer--"

"I got trapped inside the wards," Harry told her. Something in the tone of his voice told her that he did not want to be pressed about it. "Had to hide in the closet until Moody could get us out again."

Hermione's mind skipped over the word _we_ and thought of all of the implications--

"I'm fine," Harry said insistently, glaring at her.

"Can't believe... Moody let you go to St. Mungo's," Ron said. She eyed him critically, noting that his color was slowly returning to normal. It would take a while -- at least a few days -- before he was back to full health, but already he looked better... he did not look like he was dying anymore...

"I didn't give him a choice," said Harry.

"Imagine if they'd caught you in the Web," said Ron. His face was scrunched up, obviously making a huge effort just to stay awake. Hermione blew out a breath, tracing circles on the palm of Ron's hand. Tears dripped steadily down her face, luxuriating in the fact that this latest crisis was over; Ron would survive.

"They didn't catch me, though."

"But they... could have," said Ron. "I don't -- want to lose another brother that way, mate."

"You won't," Harry assured him, though there was a strange note in his voice that Hermione did not understand. He caught her eyes, and jerked his head a little, a silent request for her not to push it. "Not that way. Not in the Web," he said.

"Not--"

"I wasn't going to mention this, but Moody says all of the Horcruxes have been found and destroyed. All but one, and we know where that one is. We're going to use it to lure You-Know-Who."

Ron's eyes popped open, and Hermione gaped at him. Chills ran up and down her spine, and every nerve was on high alert. "_What_?"

"It's almost over," Harry said simply. His eyes were narrowed as he looked at the wall of the tent. Hermione had never seen him look so strange before; his expression was entirely unreadable. Although, she had to admit that she'd have no idea what to think or feel if she were in his situation. "There's only one thing left to do."

_Kill Voldemort._

"You're going to bloody well wait for it until I'm back on my feet," Ron said. "If you leave me here to guard the tent while you go off to war, I'm going to--" but he did not appear to be able to find a suitable threat, and he subsided, though he still pointed a shaky finger at Harry.

"I already told Moody that," Harry said, face relaxing into a grin. "I want the two of you with me at the end."

"That's right, we've earned it," Ron said.

Without even caring that Harry was in the same room, Hermione lifted the bedclothes off of Ron and slid in next to him. Days without sleep were catching up to her quickly, and her brain felt fuzzy and dull with weariness. _Ron is safe... Harry is safe... the Horcruxes have been found... it's almost over... Ron is safe... Ron is safe..._

"I'll go keep watch," said Harry, already pulling out his wand.

"Harry," Hermione sat up for just a moment, covering her mouth helplessly, fearing that she might start to sob in earnest. "Thank you, _thank you_, for going to St. Mungo's... the potion... I don't quite know what I would have done... And you could have been killed..." Hermione knew that Harry would be uncomfortable with the acknowledgment, but she couldn't let it go unsaid.

"Don't thank me," he said, typical of him, already halfway out of the flap. "I wouldn't have been able to live with myself if I'd let him die... either one of you. Or any of the Weasleys, you know that."

"I know," she said, and snuggled back under the blankets once more.

********************************

21 June 1999

A chill had fallen over Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. It was difficult to tell whether this was a natural, physical cold, or if it came from the Dementors, or if everyone had it inside them. Whatever the case, the fires roared in the common rooms, despite the fact that it summer, it was more than halfway through June, and it shouldn't feel like winter or early spring.

Ginny huddled further under her bedclothes, pressing her cold nose into her pillow.

Twelve days after the almost disastrous mission at St. Mungo's, the only thing Ginny was sure of was that she had to get the hell out. Our of Hogwarts and, with the way things were, out of Britain. Her stomach cramped painfully, and Ginny leaned over the side of her dorm bed, wondering if she was going to vomit. Again.

"You all righ', Ginny?" one of her dorm mates asked sleepily.

"Fine," Ginny said shortly.

"Th' Carrows get you again?" Demelza Robins spoke up.

Ginny grimaced, her body remembering the pain of the Cruciatus Curse. But the last time had been over a week ago, and whatever was wrong with her had nothing to do with Amycus Carrow. "No," she answered.

"Dunno why you always provoke them," Demelza sighed, rustling her bedclothes. Ginny could tell she was falling asleep again. Which was for the best. Ginny didn't want to talk to her anyway. Sure, Demelza was nominally a member of Dumbledore's Army, but she (and most of the others besides Luna) had decided that rebelling against the Carrows simply wasn't worth the punishments.

Ginny hadn't respected Demelza since the day the other former Gryffindor Chaser had handed her back the enchanted coin.

"Go to sleep," said Ginny.

She lay in bed and waited, as she had planned, until the other girls were in a sleep so deep that Ginny's departure would go unnoticed. But no matter how many times she'd snuck out of her dorm without the other two knowing, it was different this time. Ginny didn't know when -- _if_ -- she'd come back. And once it was quiet, she slipped out of her bed, pausing while the world tilted drunkenly, and pulled out her wand.

Three minutes later, she had silently pulled on plain black robes over her pajamas, forced all of her scattered belongings into her trunk, shrunk her trunk and placed it in her pocket, and crept out of the door. She ghosted down the stairs, through the empty common room, and out the Fat Lady. Ginny did not pause to chat with the portrait, nor did she even look back.

The halls and corridors leading to the Room of Requirement were empty, thankfully. She stopped only once, holding herself up against the wall, pressing her forehead against the cold stone wall. A vague thought flitted across her mind, that it would be nice to just go lie down in the hospital wing, and let Madam Pomfrey take care of her, and not do this. She was tired. Her limbs were heavy, and her stomach rolled and pitched.

Ginny shook the thought off and pushed herself away from the wall with more force than was strictly necessary.

It wouldn't have worked, anyway. Moody's charm prevented her from telling Madam Pomfrey anything. After her first mission to St. Mungo's, she'd attempted to ask, in a roundabout way, if there were particular potions needed by the healer, to help students away from the watchful eyes of the Carrows.

Rounding one final corner, she stopped suddenly, seeing the lamplike eyes of Mrs. Norris. Ginny's stomach plunged at the sight of the cat, knowing that Argus Filch would not be far behind. _Please don't let--_

But her unfinished wish went unanswered. Argus Filch leaned up against a suit of armor, skinny arms folded over his skeletal chest. His wrinkled face stretched in the kind of smile that infuriated Ginny.

"Tsk, tsk," he shook his head, pretending to be sad, but his voice was filled with glee. "The Carrows are going to be _very_ disappointed that you're going to land in detention again."

Ginny knew this wasn't true. "The Carrows would be happy to punish me," she said firmly. "But I'm leaving."

"You're not going anywhere," Filch said, grin widening.

It struck Ginny in that moment that she was never coming back to Hogwarts. _I don't have to be polite to this arse,_ she thought, and she bared her teeth at him. His slipped off his face and retreated into confusion and wariness.

"And a Squib is going to stop me?" Ginny asked. Face blanching, Filch took a step backward. They'd let him get away with too much, had given him too much authority over them, and hadn't reminded him often enough that he didn't have the kind of tools that Ginny had. In an instant, all of her grievances against Filch -- his tales, his delight, and his apparent indifference to the torture of students -- rose up in her mind.

She raised her wand. Panic flickered across his face, but before he could run or shout for help, Ginny blasted him away from her and into the suit of armor. He and the metal clattered to the floor, clanging and groaning and swearing. Mrs. Norris yowled her displeasure, and jumped at Ginny. She slashed her wand to the side, and the cat fell to the ground, muzzled and tied.

It was a few short steps to the Room of Requirement, which was a good thing. Her legs were trembling, and she feared she might vomit again on the ground. The door appeared in the wall, and she reached out for the knob, but paused as her fingers brushed it.

_Good bye, Hogwarts._

She lingered for only a few moments longer before she steeled herself and opened the door. Inside, she found a small, bare room (a far cry from what she had last seen in it), with stone steps leading up to another door. A broom leaned up against the wall and (though Ginny could not see the source) warm light flickered around the room.

_Breathe._

Ginny walked as quickly as she could to the opposite wall, and yanked the other door open. Grabbing the broom, she headed into the dark tunnel that was the only way out of Hogwarts. _Unless I want to fight my way out,_ Ginny amended. Another wave of nausea hit her as though underlining the fact that she was in no condition to fight.

The was seemed slower that night. Darker. Ginny had gone on several missions outside the walls of Hogwarts, but the long path to the Hog's Head had always blurred by. She'd always been mentally preparing herself for what she was about to do, or, on the way back, thinking about what she had just done. Last time she'd made this walk, she'd been reeling from nearly being trapped and killed at St. Mungo's... and the fact that she'd had sex with a stranger.

_Don't think about Grumpy now,_ she told herself firmly.

When she was almost to the Hog's Head, she had another dizzy spell and had to prop herself up against the cold wall for several minutes, breathing through her nose. Eyeing her broom dubiously, she wondered if she'd be able to make it all the way to where she needed to go. _I have to,_ Ginny thought, not liking the desperation that bubbled in her belly.

"You can just Apparate, Ginevra," she told herself. Her voice echoed oddly, muffled by the stone. Once, long ago, she had gone with her family to the seashore. Her mother had pointed at the water, and teased Ginny that if she'd only eaten her carrots that morning instead of feeding them to the garden gnomes, she'd be able to see France, it was that close. Ginny knew she'd be able to sit a broom long enough to make it across the channel. "You can Apparate from there," she added firmly.

_Good bye,_ she thought again.


	5. Safe Haven

24 June 1999

**HARRY POTTER DEFEATS YOU-KNOW-WHO!**  
Jack Shepherd

_Harry Potter, formerly known as Undesirable Number One, released Britain's Wizarding and Muggle communities alike from You-Know-Who. The Battle of Diagon Alley (as some witnesses are now calling it) began and ended rather quickly. There were few there who were not fighting (see "How Wizarding Economy Has Deteriorated," page 12), but _The Daily Prophet_ managed to interview several witnesses._

"You-Know-Who brought a few Death Eaters," said Mafalda Hopkirk, Head of the (Ministry Department). She had gone to Diagon Alley in order to buy several protective amulets that are said to ward away both werewolves and feral cats, and ended up being present for one of the greatest Wizarding events in modern history. "I didn't see everything, mind," she added. "But I recognized Harry Potter straight away. I thought -- this was it, and it was. Potter let himself be hit with the Killing Curse, and not a minute later, Fiendfyre attacked You-Know-Who and he was gone."

Mrs. Hopkirk is recovering in the newly reopened St. Mungo's from being stunned. While the details may not be absolutely correct -- The Daily Prophet_ is uncertain of the possibility of a wizard not only surviving the curse once, but twice -- the end result is the same: You-Know-Who is dead, and his followers have plunged into hiding (see "Death Eaters and the Government," page 8)._

Mr. Potter is unavailable for comment, though reliable sources claim he is recovering from his injuries in the hospital wing at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

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25 June 1999

_Dear Mum and Dad,_

I can't believe this long war is finally over, and I'm glad that you two, Ron, Bill, Charlie, Harry, and Hermione survived the final battle. I really wish that I could have been there. _Really_ wish. I'm sure you have already noticed that I'm not at Hogwarts. I had to get out of Britain. There was nothing I needed there.

Love from,  
Ginny

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06 July 1999

Harry blinked slowly awake. Immediately overwhelmed by the blinding, white light, he squeezed his eyes closed again. Memory came flooding back: the Killing Curse, talking with Dumbledore, hearing that he didn't have to be dead, lying on the ground at Voldemort's feet—

"Who lit me on fire?" he croaked.

"Harry!" Hermione squeaked, startled.

"He's awake!" Ron shouted.

Harry chanced opening his eyes again. It wasn't quite as painful as it had been last time. Experimenting, he shifted himself on the bed. His limbs felt drained of energy, and stirred almost feebly. He felt like an old man. "How long?" he asked, tongue thick in his mouth.

Hermione, now sobbing, attempted to answer. It took her several tries. "Weeks," she managed finally. "Two weeks."

"Don't cry," said Harry. "We won, didn't we?" he asked, suddenly uncertain. He recognized exactly where he was: the hospital wing at Hogwarts. How many times had he been trapped in one of these very same beds due to some injury or other? And if he was back at Hogwarts—

"Yeah, we won," said Ron. His face was very pale beneath his freckles. "Harry, I'm the one who lit you on fire – I swear, I had no idea that you were – were alive, and I was so _furious_ with V-Voldemort—"

The fact that Ron could say Voldemort's name without much fear told Harry more than anything that the Order of the Phoenix had unbelievably won the war. "Don't," Harry shook his head. Little rockets of pain burst behind his eyes. "I'm alive, aren't I?"

"Barely," Ron said in a low voice.

Harry might have said something more, to reassure Ron, but stampeding footsteps alerted him to the fact that others were coming. They edged blurrily into his vision; most of them had red hair. Harry tried to count them, but that made his head swim; he thought he could see Remus Lupin and Tonks with them.

"You're awake!" Mrs. Weasley said, voice shaking.

"You gave us quite a fright," Mr. Weasley's deep voice rumbled in his chest. Harry remembered the last time he'd spoken to Ron's father: the man had told him he was a Horcrux.

"I knew 'e would survive," Fleur said.

"If You-Know – if _Voldemort_ couldn't kill him, then Ron certainly couldn't," said Bill.

Harry squashed the urge to grin. The last time he'd woken up, it had been the day of the final battle. He'd been alone, and his stomach had been cramping with the knowledge of what he must do. Now he was surrounded by his family. Ron, Hermione, Mrs. Weasley, Mr. Weasley, Bill, Fleur, Remus, Tonks, and even Charlie—

"Where's Ginny?" Harry asked sharply, his stomach flooding with ice, reeling with his sudden change of mood. The absence of the twins – and even Percy – was bad enough, but what if she'd been killed and—

"Ginny has decided that she doesn't want to be a part of this family anymore," Bill said in an ugly voice.

No one refuted him.

"What?" Harry said blankly.

"That isn't quite right," Mrs. Weasley said half-heartedly.

"I know you want to believe the best, Mum, but she cleaned out her half of the twins' accounts, and took off on a _trip around the world,_" Bill said angrily. Harry glanced over at Hermione, wondering what the hell had happened while he'd been sleeping. But Hermione just shrugged, a helpless look crossing her face.

"I'm sure this last year has been hard on her," Mrs. Weasley said in a subdued voice. Harry had the feeling that this was not the first time this topic had been under discussion for the Weasleys. But it was new to him, and he was still shocked.

"She just _left?_" Harry asked.

"And wrote as a dodgy little note," said Ron.

"I expect she's angry with me—" Mrs. Weasley began.

"We were protecting her," Ron said in a hard voice. Harry blinked rapidly; Ron usually got along with his little sister quite well. "_Protecting_ her, and she had a temper tantrum and left, Harry. Took her share of Fred and George's money and... just left."

"Ron," Mr. Weasley said quietly. "That's enough."

"It isn't bloody enough," Ron said angrily. "Moody's dead – so is Susan Bones and Terry Boot – Neville's lucky he's alive,_Tonks_ got a really shitty deal, and _Ginny_ is acting like a selfish, spoiled little—"

"Moody's dead?" Harry asked, feeling the room tilting around him. "And _shit_, Ron, what the hell...? What the hell happened to Neville?"

His incoherence stopped the fight mid-word, and Ron looked apologetic. "Neville had to hold the Enforcer compound... keep all those little assholes from joining the fight -- they tortured him," he added. "And I'm sorry, I shouldn't have just broken everything like that..." he scrubbed his face. "Yeah, Moody, he died. He took Nagini with him, though," he added, as though that helped. "Susan Bones, Terry Boot, Michael Corner probably won't make it... there were about fifteen others I didn't even know that fought for us—"

"We didn't know them thanks to Moody's _charm_," Hermione said.

"Don't talk to me about that damn charm," Lupin growled angrily. At Harry's questioning look, he gestured toward Tonks, whose lips were pressed tightly together. "Moody died, but his charm didn't. And we have no idea how to lift it, so she's incapable of talking about being a member of the Order."

Harry was confused at this. "How come you – we – can, then?" he asked, his brain trying to focus on at least one thread of the conversation. Moody, Susan, and Terry – all dead. Ginny was gone. And Tonks was apparently still under the influence of a dire charm.

"Mad-Eye took the charm off of everyone who was at the final battle," said Hermione. "Remember? But Tonks was with Teddy, so he never lifted it off of her."

"And it was quite a powerful charm," said Lupin, folding his arms. "If I'd known, I never would've agreed to do it – or let Tonks do it."

"I'm working on figuring out a way to break it, though," Bill said hurriedly. "It's just... more difficult than I thought it would be."

Harry lifted his arm slowly – it felt like it was full of lead – and pressed it over his eyes. His stomach was rolling around, and his mind was trying to deal with everything. But it seemed almost impossible. Blackness edged his vision, and sparkling darkness threatened to cover him.

Hating how weak he felt, he forced himself to talk. "Funerals?" he asked.

"They've already happened," Mrs. Weasley said gently. "Everyone wanted to wait, but..."

"Right," Harry said wearily. Suddenly, he just wanted to go back to sleep, and not have to hear about everything. He wished he didn't have to hear about more deaths, or other ways that lives had been turned upside down. Could Tonks even talk at all? Or had Moody's charm effectively muted her.

"I'm fine," Tonks said quietly, as though reading his thoughts. "It's inconvenient"—Remus made a noise like an angry bear—"but it isn't _that big of a deal,_" she said loudly.

Harry nodded, wondering if there was a polite way to ask everyone to leave. Where was Madam Pomfrey when he needed her?

"I think Harry needs his rest," Mrs. Weasley said firmly. She raised her wand and a tall, bright green bottle flew toward him. "Drink this, please, yes, all of it."

The Weasleys and Lupin and Tonks murmured their good-byes as he drank down the vile tasting potion. They promised to return as soon as he woke up again; Harry was grateful for that, but he was conversely glad that they were leaving.

All but two of them.

"We'll just stay until you fall asleep," said Hermione, patting his hand.

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10 July 1999

Neville wiped his shaking, damp palms on his second best robes, and glanced around nervously. The Minister for Magic had a spacious waiting area outside his offices, and Neville was currently the only occupant except for a dour-faced witch that used her wand to file a series of reports.

_Don't be so damned nervous, for Merlin's sake,_ he told himself nervously. But ever since the battle at the Enforcer's compound (which had happened almost simultaneously to the others' battle with Voldemort himself), Neville's nerves had been shot.

The Cruciatus Curse did that to a person, as Neville knew very well. Thirteen minutes of awful, lacerating pain, and he woke up with nightmares almost every night. It was a small mercy, Neville privately thought, that he had been bound to silence by Moody's charm. That way he didn't get tempted to make a complete fool of himself by crying on someone's shoulder.

His parents had been under the Cruciatus for hours, had had their minds destroyed by the never-ending pain. Thirteen minutes was nothing compared to that.

When the Minister's voice boomed out, Neville jerked.

Hiding his trembling hands in the folds of his robes, he made his way toward Kingsley Shacklebolt's office. John Dawlish knocked him in the shoulder, on his way out, and sneered at Neville.

"Traitor," Dawlish spat.

Neville stared at his retreating back, wondering if he ought to be careful if he ever went out alone. The former Enforcers – those who had not been killed – were not happy that their downfall had come from within the compound. Well. He'd be certain to take all necessary precautions.

Stomach aching with nerves he knocked twice on the Minister's door.

"Come in, Mr. Longbottom," said Minister Shacklebolt. He looked very tired, Neville noticed. He leaned back in his chair behind the huge, mahogany desk; his broad face was lined with weariness.

"Reporting, sir," said Neville.

"So I see," said the Minister. He leaned forward and steepled his fingers. "But we both know that you don't really need to be here, don't we? There's no reason for a member of the Order of the Phoenix to be called into account for actions done as an Enforcer."

Neville opened his mouth, but the dam in his mind prevented him from saying a word. Instead of letting frustration overcome him, he just shrugged.

"Ah," the Minister said. "I'd hoped that Moody would've at least taken the charm off of you before the battle. I can see our interview won't go very far," he added wryly. "Tonks is just the same, although she's quite able to complain about it. And Remus acts as her voice well enough."

Neville did not know what he could say, so he did not even try. The Minister seemed to expect this.

"Bill Weasley is working out how to break the charm," he announced. "It's a tricky bit of magic that Moody wrought, and Weasley's having a devilish time."

"That's too bad for Tonks," Neville murmured. The Minister's eyes swung back to his, sharp and piercing. Shacklebolt seemed to guess that Neville did not want to speak of his time with the Enforcers, and that he almost hoped that a way to break the charm would never be found.

His palms were clammy again, and he had started to sweat.

"I have decided that all members of the Order of the Phoenix who wish to become Aurors will not have to endure training," said Shacklebolt, after clearing his throat. "I know Harry Potter and Ron Weasley are going to join up, and I'm sure you—"

"No," said Neville with more force than he meant. "No, thank you," he amended. His hands were shaking so hard that he was afraid it was visible, even through his robes. He glanced out the window. The sunny sky revealed that Magical Maintenance was pleased to not be under the boot heels of Death Eaters any longer. Neville took a deep breath. "I wanted to be a magical herbologist," he said painfully. "I wanted to work with plants."

Shacklebolt nodded once, apparently unperturbed. "Well," he said. "If you should change your mind…"

The Minister let the sentence dangle. Neville thought about how he wanted to hear the wind rustle the leaves of trees he'd planted with his own shaky hands – the seedlings wouldn't fault him a tremble. But as the way things stood, he didn't want to listen to spells and curses rush past him; he didn't think he could hold his own in a duel any longer.

"I'll keep you in mind," Neville said. "Thank you."

"No need for thanks," said the Minister. "In fact… in about two weeks, the wizarding world is going to thank _you_ for your service. You're to be awarded the Order of Merlin, First Class, along with Harry, Ron, and Hermione."

Neville stared at him blankly, blinking. _The Order of Merlin, First Class? First???_ Unbelievably, he felt a little surge of excitement, and couldn't help the smile that spread across his face. "Wow," he said. "_Wow._ My Gran is going to be really happy."

"She should be very proud of you," the Minister said. "And I'm sure your parents would be thrilled to know the man their son grew up to be."

Neville took his leave after murmuring words of thanks. He was still incredulous, and in shock that he was to be awarded the same award that Harry was. The entire the world knew that Harry had taken the Killing Curse in order to defeat Voldemort. And even if Neville never raised his wand to duel again, and if he raised _Mimbulus Mimbletonia_ instead of fighting against darkness… maybe he had already done enough.

_I can't wait to tell Gran about the award!_

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12 July 1999

**NEW MINISTER FOR MAGIC MAKES BOLD, CONTROVERSIAL MOVE**  
Claire Bennet

_Minister Kingsley Shacklebolt made a surprising decision today that shocked his advisors, and several reinstated members of the Wizengamot. It was announced several days ago that the Enforcers were being disbanded, and the Auror Department would be reformed under the leadership of war veteran Nymphadora Lupin, age 27. Coming at the heels of that shift back to normalcy, however, the Minister for Magic declared that several former Enforcers would be allowed to continue on as Aurors._

"It's a stupid idea," says Cursor Babbling, of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. "I say we should get rid of all the bad seeds. No one wants anyone who served You-Know-Who to remain at the Ministry, especially in the Auror Department." This seems to be the prevailing opinion. Babbling, 49, and others, are wary of allowing former Enforcers to be granted any sort of power.

Nymphadora Lupin, who is the new Head of the Auror Department, however, fully supports the new Minister. "The fact is, without allowing some Enforcers to remain, the Auror Department would be severely handicapped by lack of numbers," she stated. "It is the Minister's opinion that this move is necessary."

Not all Enforcers will be invited to remain, however; many of them will, in fact, be tried by the Wizengamot for crimes against Muggles and wizards. The former Enforcers that will serve as Aurors are generally those who joined the Auror Department prior to 1997. "Even they will be demoted to Junior Auror level," promised Minister Shacklebolt, "and will be on probation for one year."

Junior Undersecretary Percival Weasley also claims that the former Enforcers will be closely monitored. "Of course I can't tell you what precautions will be taken," he said, when pressed for further answers. "That would be (continued on page 2)

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15 July 1999

Ron couldn't help feeling guilty every damn time he looked at Harry. His skin was just starting to heal, and the raw pink of it looked quite painful. _At least he wasn't disfigured,_ thought Ron.

"Your turn," said Ron gruffly. Harry was staring out the window of the Burrow, a little smile playing on his lips. Since Ron had no idea why the hell his best mate was smiling, he ignored it.

Harry's chess pieces jeered at him as he made a move without thinking.

"What are you thinking about?" Ron asked.

"A girl," Harry said immediately.

Ron's eyebrows flew up. When had Harry possibly had time to meet and start to fancy a witch? He'd been very private at Hogwarts, and the only girl at the Burrow was Ron's mother. _Ginny_ should have been there, but apparently she didn't need anything in Britain.

"I don't believe you," Ron said irritably. He hated thinking about Ginny. Whenever he did, it made him want to hex her. The Ginny he knew and loved wouldn't have up and left just because she hadn't gotten her way. _Damn her,_ thought Ron.

"Just because you're irritated with Ginny—"

"Irritated? _Irritated_?" Ron interrupted. "Bloody hacked off, is more like it," he muttered.

"Still," Harry said, pointing at him. "That doesn't mean that I can't think about a girl who isn't Ginny."

"When did you even have time to meet a girl?" Ron challenged.

"At St. Mungo's. You know – when we needed that potion for you," said Harry, shrugging his shoulders. "Moody made me work with her, and…"

"And?" Ron said, suddenly interested and feeling like grinning. The change in mood made his head spin a bit. The idea of Harry -- _Harry!_, who was usually so focused and intense – being distracted by a witch during any sort of mission was hilarious.

"Well…" Harry turned a bright shade of red. "You know that I – we – were trapped at St. Mungo's. We were in a closet and—"

"Did you snog her?" Ron asked incredulously.

"I couldn't help myself," Harry said helplessly. "She saved your life, you know," he added. "And – I was really condescending to her, and she taught me a lesson. That was before the closet, while we were getting your potion, and I told her if she was afraid, she could stay behind. Then she basically told me to stick my wand up my—"

"Yes, I can see why this is obviously the perfect woman," Ron said dryly, recovering from his surprise at Harry's flow of words. He must've been keeping all these thoughts really pent up since he woke up, and was now at the verge of some sort of breaking point.

Harry picked up one of his pieces, ignoring the way it shouted imprecations at him. Ron figured they were done with their chess match. It was fine with him. Harry always lost, anyway, and wasn't much of a challenge.

"She asked me what I would see in the Mirror of Erised – she asked me a _lot_ of personal questions, and I nicknamed her Nosy," he said, speaking very quickly. "I think I told her I'd see socks—"

"Socks?" Ron asked, snorting. "You are _so_ weird."

"That's what Dumbledore told me he'd see," Harry said defensively. "But I might've told her I'd see a motorbike, I can't really remember. But she told me that she would see her home, the way it used to be. I dunno why I did it, but I kissed her, and then…"

Ron gaped at Harry. Not that it surprised him that his best mate had been attracted to a woman with an obviously unique blend of strength and vulnerability. Harry must've found her irresistible. Hermione had told him that a long time ago as her reasons for thinking that Harry and Ginny would probably fall for each other at some point. But that had been before the letter that revealed how cold and unfeeling Ginny was.

"—and then we did it again, and it was just as brilliant as the first time—"

"_What?_" Ron said, shocked. So lost in his thoughts, he'd completely missed part of what Harry had said. But he'd heard enough. "You _shagged_ her?"

"Well… yeah," Harry said uncomfortably, obviously wishing that he had not told Ron this. "Damn that potion your mum gives me," he said grumpily, resting his head against the pillow. "It makes my head spin, and I keep saying stuff – I told Hermione that her hair needed a brush this morning…"

Ron was still stuck on the shagging. "You shagged her? At St. Mungo's? In a closet?" he asked, dumbfounded.

"Don't make it sound so dirty," Harry said sharply. "It wasn't – it was – I just – I don't think I could've… dealt with the fact that I was a Horcrux without it. It was important, and I don't regret it."

"I wouldn't have wanted to think I was going to die a virgin either," Ron said fairly. "I wondered how you were able to do it; I should've known you'd had sex."

"I want to find her," said Harry, ignoring Ron. He laughed. "I mean – I don't know her name, what she looks like, or… anything. But I want to try anyway."

"It shouldn't be that hard," said Ron. "We can just take out an ad in the _Daily Prophet_… Who Was in the Closet With Harry Potter?"

Harry threw his pillow at Ron, laughing. Ron threw it back at Harry. "It's at moments like these that I really miss the twins," Ron said, feeling a wistful little pang. "I'm woefully inadequate when it comes to teasing… Closet Girl would've been prime fodder for the twins."

"I think you're doing well enough on your own," Harry said wryly.

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17 July 1999

_Dear Ginny,_

I do wish you would answer our letters, love, and that you would come home. You've always loved the Burrow, haven't you? We can finally go back there now; it was a little worse for wear, but your father and brothers straightened it right up. It's home again, but we're missing you desperately. You, Fred, George, and Percy. I know you're very angry with us, but we were only trying to protect you. I'm not sure if I would've been able to go on knowing that my youngest child and only daughter was in mortal danger - please forgive me for this selfishness.

You may not think that you need anything in Britain, but there are several people in Britain who need you. Ron will receive the Order of Merlin, First Class. Harry, Hermione, and Neville Longbottom are also going to get it. I know you don't know what Horcruxes are - they're objects that Voldemort used to stay alive and somewhat immortal - but everyone who destroyed one is to receive the First Class award. Neville is receiving it because he held off the Enforcers from being able to join Voldemort during the Final Battle.

There are countless reasons why you should come home: to help Neville, who really needs a friend; to watch your brother receive the highest honor wizardkind can get; to live in the Burrow again because it's your home. Please come back to us.

Love,  
Mum


	6. Love From, Ginny

SOCKS PART II

LOVE FROM, GINNY: The First Christmas After the War

**Author's note: **_Has it really and truly been four years since I've updated this wonderful beast of a story? I had almost forgotten it, but not quite. I hated leaving Ginny and her family so at odds, especially after the Weasley family lost the twins, and were estranged from Percy. I decided I need to put that family back together, as much as I am able after the horrid things I did to them in Part I._

_Speaking of Part I, I really recommend rereading it. I had to reread it three times in order to remember where exactly I was going with all the different storylines, and it's a complicated enough alternate universe to warrant a second or third look._

_Seriously. I'd reread it. _

_And, if you want to make my day, please review! And tell me how happy you are that this story will be finished! Because I'm THRILLED!_

21 December 1999

**SIX MONTHS AND BEYOND**

Peter Capulet

_Six months after the defeat of You-Know-Who, and the Wizarding World has changed quite a lot, and yet, not enough. _

_The Daily Prophet remains located in a subbasement of the Ministry of Magic, though we are looking to find new premises in Muggle London. This is quite a departure from our former location in Diagon Alley before the new regime insisted on such close supervision that we made the move to the Ministry of Magic. But don't you worry, gentlewizards and witches, we will continue to report the news of our world – we simply need a cheap location from which to do so. As rebuilding efforts continue in Diagon Alley (more on that later), it is easier to find a building to lease in the Muggle world._

_The former Enforcer Academy in the North Sea is still running, though Kingsley Shacklebolt has control of it, and it is firmly wrestled away from the control of the Death Eaters. "We have dreams and plans for the Academy," Shacklebolt, 37, told us during an informal interview. "The International Confederation of Wizards has looked over it, and we can confirm that we are looking into continuing the rigorous Auror training – this time, with an eye to stamp out darkness, rather than foment it." It has long been an interest of the Ministry to encourage international cooperation, and the new Auror Academy – which may be chosen as the site to train an international team of wizards – may be just the way to do so._

_Another form of international cooperation shown in the past weeks? Delegations from the United States, Canada, Brazil, and Italy arrived last month, and we can finally reveal the nature of their mission. "They came to make a donation of goodwill," a representative of the Ministry, Percy Weasley, told us. "They knew we were having trouble rebuilding Diagon Alley out of the rubble, and together, they donated enough to make our financial worries disappear." This news could not have come at a better time. Regular readers of the _Daily Prophet _will remember the outcry when it was revealed the Ministry could not seize the funds of convicted Death Eaters and use those galleons for necessary repairs. Our friends from around the world made it unnecessary to rewrite wizarding law, and set a dangerous precedent. We have it from a likely source that Diagon Alley will reopen at the beginning of February._

_If only we had such good news regarding St. Mungo's. We have it on good authority from a curse-breaker who refuses to be named that breaking the Web remains a top priority for every curse-breaker in the country. "We're at it night and day, mate," said the curse-breaker, who met me for a pint at a Muggle pub. "We've barely enough time to hang up our cloaks at home before we're at it again. Devilish tricky, it is" Don't we know it? St. Mungo's, as we all know, has been impenetrable to wizards, witches, healers, and staff since the day everyone already inside made the decision to transfer the wounded to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. _

_I think I speak for everyone at the _Daily Prophet _when I say that I wish everything were simpler. You-Know-Who is gone, defeated by Harry Potter, but the devastation he wrought during his time in power has long-lasting consequences. A battered magical society asks, "When will it be truly over?"_

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23 December 1999

"I just want to _see _the new premises," Hermione said for the fifth time. She was excited enough that she was practically skipping – and not just because that was what it took to keep up with longer-legged Ron Weasley. "The premises of the Daily Prophet has never been located anywhere near anything Muggle," she continued. She thought she heard Harry groan, but honestly, this was _interesting. _Besides, he still had issues with his wounds from the last battle. That was why he was groaning, not because he wasn't interested. Hermione nodded firmly. "When the publication first began, it was located in the sitting room of Mr. and Mrs. Hopkirk – oh, do you suppose Mafalda Hopkirk was related to them? – in Godric's Hollow-"

"Godric's Hollow?" Harry cut in.

"Yeah, mate, it was probably close to the ruins of your mum and dad's house," Ron said helpfully.

Hermione smacked him. "Insensitive, Ron!"

"Oh, that's nice," Ron said, rubbing his chest. "Hit the bloke who recently had no internal organs. Why don't you kick Harry in his leg while you're at it?"

Harry stuck out his leg. "Here, Hermione," he said. "Go ahead."

Hermione could not help but laugh a little. The truth was, all three of them had scars and nightmares: Harry and his leg, Ron and his brush with an excruciating death, and Hermione had a horrible scar from elbow to wrist. Admittedly, that was not _technically _a war wound, but she pretended it was. Ron and Harry backed her up, as they always did. The nightmares were worse than the physical realities of war, truth be told. She glanced up at Ron's face; a Muggle car drove by, making it easy to see. When they were younger, his face would relax into a smile when he was distracted – Quidditch usually filled his head. Now, after the war, it tightened into grim lines whenever he thought he was not being watched.

"Stop thinking about it," Harry ordered.

"Thinking about what?" Hermione demanded.

"You know what. Whenever you look up at Ron, you-"

"We're here," Ron said shortly.

It was located on a quiet lane, and Hermione saw instantly how well-suited it was. A few streets over, and it would be located in what the Muggles called "slums". But here there were lawyers' offices, a few secondhand stores, a pub, and a flower shop. "Yes, I think this will do quite nicely," said Hermione. "It's perfect, really."

Harry grunted. "Are there any wards? We're not too far from St. Mungo's."

Out of habit, Hermione looked around for curious onlookers before she brought out her wand. She performed the enchantment. A smoky red mist appeared like a sudden fog, coalesced, and then drifted to the pavement. Where once there was nothing in front of the new Daily Prophet offices, there was now a clear line separating it from Muggle London. Hermione looked closer, then stepped away. "I'd want Bill to look over it," she said, "but the wards are rudimentary at best." Harry's reminder made her wary, however, and she was loathe to cross the barrier.

The three stood there in silence for a few moments.

Often, when Hermione was drifting off to sleep, she listed all the wards she knew of. Ron called this a quirk. Hermione knew it was the way she remembered those who had been tangled up in it. It was a travesty, still, that St. Mungo's – the greatest wizarding hospital in the world – was silent and empty. Bill and other curse-breakers were working furiously around the clock to break down the terrible Web, but all these months later, it had yet to be done.

"Why don't we head on over to that pub?" Ron lifted an arm and pointed across the street. "Maybe after a couple of pints we won't be so damned moody."

Hermione had her misgivings, but let Ron lead her across the street, Harry right behind them. The pub was cheerily lit, and decorated rather outlandishly for Christmas. It was as though Father Christmas himself had come into the pub, gotten merrily drunk, and spread cheer willy-nilly through the entire building. Snowflakes decorated the windows, red and green bulbs hung from the door, and the all-too-lifelike reindeer head greeted them with "Happpppppppppppy Christmas" sign hung around its severed neck. Hermione pressed her free hand to her heart – it felt rather light all of a sudden.

"Rather lot of Muggles in here," Ron observed.

"I think everyone had the same idea you did," said Harry.

It was difficult to talk in a sea of people waiting for a seat, and Hermione let her eyes wander. A rather loud bulletin board was chock full of notices and such: "Flatmate wanted, 3 bedroom, 2 bath", "Lost Dog", "DOCTOR CAPALDI'S CARNIVALE EXTRAORDINAIRE: THREE NIGHTS ONLY, GET YOUR TICKETS". "Look," Hermione bumped Ron's arm. "Did you know that carnivals transported loads of goods for-"

"Quiet a moment, I'm trying to find a path through this mess," Ron, who didn't like crowds in between him and his beer, said. Hermione smirked and said nothing. It took longer than she expected; Hermione managed to memorize the carnival information, the mobile number of the person missing the dog, and the address of the flat. She was just starting up a new mental list – Chores to be Done Before Christmas – when a spot at the bar opened up. Ron shoved them through, and rounded up three swivel-backed chairs, while Hermione admired the length of his arms.

She squeezed his muscle. "You've got quite the reach, you know that, don't you?" She said in approval. "Thanks, I needed to sit."

"We'll have three – I don't know," Ron said to the scruffy, older bartender. "What's good here."

"Everything's good here, mate," the bartender said with an excess of cheer. "And you"-he pointed at Ron-"drink free. Redheads don't pay when I'm behind the bar, that's the rule."

Ron, stunned, only stammered.

Harry, who was used to being given free things, stepped in smoothly. "We'll just have ale, please," he said. "Plenty of it."

Three ales were set before them with a swiftness that Honeydukes could only hope to replicate – quite a feat, considering the bartender was a Muggle. "Me name's Barrow," he said to Ron, "If you're still here when I go on my break, just tell the next gent I said you drink free. Remind 'im about the redhead rule."

"Clearly, the Weasleys have not been drinking in the right establishments," said Ron, when Barrow left. "Where has this Muggle been all my life?" Hermione smiled, reached out, and played with the errant lock of red hair hanging over his ears.

"You deserve a free drink now and again," Hermione said. "Or always."

"I agree," Harry said quietly.

Ron turned wide blue eyes on them. "You don't think it's a bit odd? What if he's got a hate for redheads, and the ale's poisoned?"

"Because that's likely," Harry snorted.

Ron brought his wand out. "I'm checking," he said grimly. "I'm fond of my innards, I don't want them going on walkabout again."

"Be careful," she hissed, and looked around anxiously. Other than an odd look on Barrow's face, no one in the cramped little pub appeared to have noticed the big red-haired man tapping a wand on the bar. _Perhaps Barrow is just odd,_ she decided, when the man went into the back and came out with a bucket of sliced limes. By the time she was done with the safety precautions, Ron had cast the spell, decided the ale was just fine, and had tucked his wand away.

He smirked at her.

Hermione stuck her tongue out at him.

"Merlin, you two just need to get married already," Harry said, hiding a grin with his pint.

Hermione smacked him. "We'll get married when we're good and ready, and not a moment earlier. We'll both have steady employment, and be able to make a down payment on a cottage – I do _not _want to start my married life in a flat. I'd say we are three years, perhaps two if we really push for it, from the goal. And _then _we'll get married."

"What she said," said Ron. "But if I asked her to marry me tomorrow, she would."

Hermione flushed. "Probably," she admitted. Harry laughed.

"Enough taking the mickey out of us," Ron grinned at Harry. "What happened to looking for your closet girl?"

Harry's jaw tightened. "I have no clue where to even start looking," he said softly. "Moody didn't keep any records at all, he kept it all up here"-Harry tapped his forehead, right near his scar—"so I have no way of finding other Order members who can't come forward because of the charm, you know that. I keep thinking if I could just get into St. Mungo's-"

"-you and me both," interrupted Ron. "The entire wizarding world wants to get into St. Mungo's."

Glass broke. Hermione drew her wand without even thinking. Battlefield reflexes had saved her life a time or two. Movement on her right and left said that Harry and Ron were the same way. All three of them stared at the bartender, who had dropped the glass, and was now gaping at them.

Barrow licked his lips. "Did you say... St. Mungo's? Is that anything like – like Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry?"

Hermione's brows tightened. "You're a Muggle, though," she breathed.

"My son," Barrow said simply, tears standing in his eyes. "My son, he's – he's different. Like you, I think."

The story was told in a hushed voice. Eleven year-old Timothy Barrow received his letter to Hogwarts with a personal visit from a professor ("She was tall, looked kind of... pruny," said Barrow. "Musta been Professor McGonagall," said Ron), who warned the family that it was unsafe for Barrow not to be trained to use his magic, and equally unsafe for him to go to Hogwarts. As a family, they decided Timmy would go to Hogwarts ("We very nearly never saw him again," Barrow said tearfully. "We thought we was doing the right thing – we knew he were different, y'see, always makin' things float and whatnot."). Professor McGonagall fixed Timmy up with a new family tree ("She hadta make sure we weren't on it," said Barrow sadly.), and he left for Hogwarts. His parents did not hear from him until he stumbled into the family home, cold, shaking, and terrified.

"We got outta here at that point," Barrow finished. "Me sister's still in the family business – fishing, you know – and we got on a boat to France. Timmy were terrified and wouldn't talk about how he got outta Hogwarts, but we found some bits of red hair on his cloak. That's why, when I started up this place, I let every redhead drink for free."

Hermione sat, stunned. It amazed her how much the war affected everyone. The last thing on her mind when she'd walked in was finding a Muggle man who'd had to flee because his young son was a wizard. "That's... amazing," she said, breathless. Tears that matched the bartender's sprang into her eyes. "How wonderful that your family is safe. Timmy is safe, isn't he?"

"Oh, yes," Barrow said. "He's back at home now for Christmas, but he went back to Hogwarts – says it's not scary, and he's learning lots. Says some bloke named Harry Potter defeated the evil wizard nutter, and it's fine to be a Muggleborn."

"I think that story deserves another round of ale – I'm buying this time," Ron said thickly. "And we'll drink to a Happy Christmas."

"This was exactly what I needed," Hermione said, when Barrow had left to grab them more ale. "What with – with Tonks gagged by Moody's charm, and everyone else who still can't come forward as members of the Order of the Phoenix, and – everything. The losses, the death. Everything. It reminds me why we even joined the fight to begin with-"

"Well, I sort of had to," Harry said. "But yeah, this is brilliant."

Hermione leaned into Ron's side, and he obliged her by wrapping his arm around her. "Happy Christmas, you two," she said softly.

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24 December 1999

Percy Weasley slunk into Diagon Alley in the dead of night quite like an intruder. It was like entering a graveyard for wizard shops. Dark and unhappy looking storefronts hunched over broken cobbles and stacks of wood and stone. It was easy to pretend that the wreckage from recent rebuilding efforts were instead the rubble from a short, though furious battle, with Voldemort and his Death Eaters.

He pulled the packet of papers out of his cloak, and checked the address again. Percy knew very well where Weasley's Wizard Wheezes was located: He'd been to the WWW several times on Ministry business – always when the girl, Verity, was working. Percy experienced a moment of regret at his past actions, and the packet of papers – the Last Will and Testament of Fred and George Weasley – was suddenly very heavy.

Fred and George's last laugh at the expense of Percy was willing to him their store. Percy had not approved of the time they'd spent making practical jokes and such – they never took life _seriously _enough. They were talented wizards, both of them. Some of the things they'd come up with had saved the lives of Ministry officials, but up until Percy had learned of their death, he'd thought they were wasting their talent.

Percy bent his head against the wind, swallowed his regrets, and marched up the crooked, broken street to their store. It did not do to wallow in regret, not when he had an appointment waiting. WWW was closer to the entrance of the Leaky Cauldron than he'd remembered. With the shops dark, and the crowds gone, what had once seemed an endless maze was actually quite small indeed.

His appointment was waiting for him.

"Ah, Jordan," he said.

"Weasley," Lee Jordan said coldly. "I didn't think you'd actually show up."

"We made an appointment," Percy said. His feelings were very raw, but it was easy to maintain an air of haughtiness – he'd done it nearly all his life. His analyst called it a defense-mechanism. Audrey was a Muggleborn witch not much older than him, spent most if not all of her time in the Muggle world, and had managed to pinpoint his personality exactly. He did not pay her nearly enough, and after this transaction was through, he'd hardly be able to pay her anything at all.

Jordan spit on the ground, and pointed a finger at him. "I'm only doing this because I want to get the hell out of here." His jaw worked furiously. "There's nothing for me here."

Percy eyed him. Clearly, this man had issues beyond selling his half of a wizarding shop. "Are you in some kind of trouble?" he asked. "I'm sure there are people who can help-"

"At the Ministry?" Jordan snorted. "Fuckers barely know what they stand for."

Percy said nothing.

"Let's do this," Jordan said. "Where do I sign."

Percy made no more effort to speak to the young man. He pulled out the required paperwork that Marluk Dunne had given him. "It's all been prepared, all you have to do is sign here, here, and here." With astonishing trust, the younger man signed without any discernible hardship – if he had any misgivings or regrets, they were long gone. "The money has already been transferred to your account at Gringotts."

"I know, I checked earlier," Jordan said indifferently. He retrieved a broom from behind a broken pillar. He mounted it, and then looked back once more at the dangling W and varnished sign. "They loved this place. What – What are you going to do with it?" his tone betrayed a hint of sadness.

"I'm going to reopen it," Percy said gently, ignoring the way his heart suddenly beat faster. It was the first time he'd spoken those words aloud. The first time he'd made his intentions clear. It was thrilling in a totally unexpected way.

Jordan was first astonished, then accepting. "Yeah, yeah. I wish I could do that. But..." his voice trailed away. "I can't stay," he said. "I've got to get out of here. Everthing's just bottled up inside, and this place"- he spread his arms as if to encompass all of Diagon Alley, all of England-"is toxic."

"Have a Happy Christmas, Jordan," said Percy.

"Yeah. You too."

A minute later, all that was left in Diagon Alley of Lee Jordan was his signature in three different places. Percy owned Weasley's Wizard Wheezes. It was a daunting task set before him, but Percy pushed away thoughts of inadequacies. He drew his wand, whispered a charm, and watched the snow brush away. He followed the path he'd made, found the door, opened it, and stepped into an entirely different life.

He thought – he hoped – the twins would have wanted this.

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25 December 1999

Harry was desperately miserable.

The Burrow, always a merry, busy little place was not what it once was. The rooms were silent – no Fred and George to blow things up – the faint smell of gunpowder was gone, and even the ghoul in the attic was quiet ("He might have died," Charlie confided in Harry. "We're all too afraid to check."). Oh, Mrs. Weasley had gone through all the proper motions: the house was clean, the Christmas supper was delicious, but everyone knew the place should be overrun with loud-mouthed, fast-talking, arguing, teasing, merry redheads. Instead, only three of Arthur and Molly's children were there, and the other four – well, their memories were there, and it hurt.

The twins were gone. Percy had never come home, and Ginny was gallivanting around the world. She'd at least sent a little note – a postcard of a Muggle beach, with the words "Love from, Ginny" and nothing else. It sat on the mantle like a mockery of the love her family had for her. Harry, an orphan, had no idea how she had turned her back on them after all they had done to protect her. ("But see, that's exactly it," Hermione had said the night before, during one of Ron's rages. "She wanted to be in the thick of it. She wanted to fight. And she's furious with us for not letting her.") Harry understood feeling impotent, but Ginny was selfish for letting it overtake her.

Thinking of Ginny, and everything else the Weasleys had lost was in no way conducive to proper holiday cheer, so he turned to the person next to him. "How's the baby?" He asked Fleur. He'd tried to inject some amount of happiness and tidings-of-joy whatnot into his voice, but it just sounded fake.

"Ze baby, she is doink well," Fleur patted her belly, which looked quite large to Harry's unpracticed eye. She looked ready to have the baby at any moment. "Three more months, and ve vill meet 'er at last!" She lowered her voice. "Zis pregnancy, no one haz varned me what to expect. I feel sick, I feel 'appy, I cry, I cry, and I cry, and always Beel pats me and says, 'Zank Merlin it eez not me!'"

Harry chuckled. "I'm glad it's not me, either. Have you any idea what you'll name the baby?"

Fleur nodded. "_Oui_, but ve are not telling. For ze bad luck."

Privately, Harry thought the Weasleys needed all the luck they could get. He glanced around the room again. He pictured it in a year's time: all was the same, except there was a silvery haired baby for the adults to coo at. Maybe Ginny would even be back by then? He could picture her holding the baby, and telling her all sorts of stories of the mischief Weasley girls could get up to... if the baby was a girl-

"Eets not ze same, is eet?" Fleur broke into his thoughts.

Harry cleared his throat. "It's not. It's... really not."

"I miss ze twins," Fleur said. Then an uncharacteristically ugly look crossed her face. "I wish zey were here, but no, I do not miss Percy. Or Ginny. I zink zat zey should just... stay away." She waved her arm at the postcard. "For months, nozing. Zen zis stupid postcard. Beel is furious." Her normally lovely face was bright red, and there was something in her eyes that reminded Harry how frightening veela could become once angered.

Once electricity started to gather in that long, silvery hair, Harry broke in. "Where _is _Bill?" he asked desperately. The storm receded, and the sun broke over Fleur once more.

"Ah, my love, he eez hard worker," she said, settling back in her seat, and rubbing her belly again. "He haz surprise for Molly and Arthur."

Harry's estimation of Bill rose. The man did the work of ten wizards, both on the charm Moody had performed on members of the Order of the Phoenix, and on the Web, and still managed to be a loving husband and future father. He was probably the most like Arthur, though with his mothers temper, as evidenced by his increasingly vocal disgust for his sister's behavior. He wondered what kind of surprise he had planned for his parents, but, knowing Bill, it would be perfect. It would raise their spirits.

For the first time since he'd arrived that day, Harry had a genuine smile on his face.

"You are hard worker, too," Fleur observed, suddenly sly. "Why do you not have girlfriend? You should bring a girl home for Molly to coo after."

Suddenly tongue-tied, Harry stuttered. "Um, uh- The war. I haven't got time," he said feebly. An image of Nosy rose in his mind. She was never far away, it seemed. He dreamed of her often, and she looked different every time. He'd done everything he could to find her – more than he'd let on to Ron and Hermione – but she eluded him. "There was someone, but I can't find her," he found himself admitting.

Fleur's lip curled. "Eet ees not Ginny you pine for, no?" she said. "Because-"

"It's not Ginny," Harry confirmed.

"What's not Ginny?" Ron ambled over. Without waiting for an answer, he said, "We're eating outside, Dad says. Better get out there, Charlie says he's hungry enough to eat everything. Hey, Fleur, where's Bill? And Remus and Tonks said they'd be here too, but Mum says we can't wait much longer."

"'elp me up, Ronald," Fleur demanded. "They'll be 'ere when they get 'ere."

"You're really working on sounding like a mum, aren't you," Ron said good-naturedly, as he helped Fleur up from her seat. "'ere, let me 'elp you and your belly out ze door."

"Oh, Ron," Fleur said fondly. "Never change."

"Her mood swings are dizzying," Ron said in a low voice to Harry once they were out on the front lawn. Harry nodded in agreement.

Muggles would never eat outside on a winter day, not normal Muggles, anyway. And probably most wizarding families would opt to eat indoors. But Arthur and Molly had outdone themselves. Torches were firmly planted in the ground, and it was pleasantly warm from heating charms. A shabby, green and red tablecloth covered a huge wooden table, and cozy chairs were placed all around it. Fleur sank into one of these gratefully, and Hermione and Molly chatted as they orchestrated a complicated dance of plates and silverware with their wands. Arthur had a look of delight on his face as he cut the turkey. "Look, boys!" He brandished a vibrating knife in his hand. "I bought an ekeltronic knife!"

"And you're going to cut your eye out with it," Molly said, but her eyes were twinkling.

But Harry saw her face fall when they all sat down. Even Charlie – who was large enough for two men, it seemed – could not make up for the fact that so many chairs were empty. Gloom sidled in, threatening to send the Christmas cheer off to another family, one that had not lost quite so many people in the war. Smiles slid off faces, eyes darted to empty chairs, and Harry thought of the stark postcard on the mantle. A little burst of anger popped in his stomach.

Three _POPS! _dispelled the sudden gloom.

Harry's head swiveled toward the gate – through which three very welcome figures entered. _Four_, he reminded himself. Remus Lupin held his blue-haired, wide-eyed son carefully. He looked rather better than usual; his robes were new, and he had a smile on his long, thin face. Tonks followed right behind him, clutching his hand. Bill, an uncharacteristically smug look on his face, eased through, and shut the gate behind him.

"You held dinner for us?" Bill asked, seating himself beside his wife. "Excellent. I'm starving."

"Before we eat – and I know you've waited – could I make a toast?" Tonks asked. She sounded shy, quite unlike herself. "I'll be short. And look, I brought this." A bottle of firewhiskey appeared from the folds of her robes.

Harry looked at her, interested. A bit of Tonks' liveliness had been lost during the long months it took for Bill to find a way to undo Moody's charm. Indeed, there had been times when she'd turned red with frustration, left the room, and returned later with tear marks on her face. Those times came more and more frequently, and everyone was worried about her. He glanced at Remus, who held a finger to his lips, and betrayed nothing.

"Please, say what you need to say," Molly said. "And let me fill the glasses, don't you worry about it," she added kindly. Goblets were filled with the steaming alcohol within moments.

Tonks looked around the table. Harry was alarmed to see tears in her eyes.

"Oh," Hermione exclaimed softly. "Oh!"

"How does she always know?" Ron asked.

"I'd like to toast you lot, my friends and family, my husband, my son," Tonks said. She sounded oddly triumphant for a woman on the verge of tears. "You've been such a steady support during these long months of being entirely incapable of speaking about anything that matters – not that Teddy doesn't matter. But Moody's gag forced me to be unable to commiserate with you the pain we went through as members of the Order of the Phoenix."

"WHAT!" Charlie shouted.

"Quiet, you," Remus said fondly.

"I'd especially like to thank Bill-"

"_We'd _like to thank Bill," Remus interjected.

"Yes, _we _would like to thank Bill, who so – so diligently went digging through piles of old books, notes, and scrolls..." At that moment, Tonks broke down. But the important stuff had been said, Harry thought.

"Blimey, he got that charm off of her," said Ron.

Dinner was forgotten for long minutes as they celebrated with firewhiskey. Harry had what felt like a hundred questions for Bill – which he would ask, but later. For now, the celebration continued. Tonks was passed around, and when she was not proudly speaking of her role in the Order, she was crying with happiness that was more than enough to dispel the lingering gloom.

"I'm just so, so happy," she sobbed on Harry's shoulder. He patted her.

"We're happy _for _you, it must've been awful."

"It was. It _hurt._"

Once dinner was done and the celebration mellowed to something that did not quite resemble chaos, Harry went to look for Ron and Hermione. They were not hard to find. They stood near the gate, watching the snow fall beyond the boundaries of the charm Arthur wrought to warm the air for the dinner. Hermione looked very small standing in the circle of Ron's arms. Harry hesitated, not wanting to interrupt a private moment, but Ron motioned him over.

"I was just telling Hermione today wasn't bad for the first Christmas after the war," Ron said. "You know, there were a few rough spots, but. Yeah."

"It was as happy as it could have been," said Harry.

_"_Without the twins," said Ron. "And even without Percy, the prat."

"Without Ginny," Hermione said softly.

_Without Nosy, _Harry added silently, watching the snow fall beyond the Burrow's gate.


	7. Almost

** ALMOST**

03 January 2000

**A Directive from Kingsley Shacklebolt, Minister of Magic**

_Members of the Order of the Phoenix, please be advised. We are now able to break the charm wrought by Alastair Moody (deceased). It is not yet determined whether or not members of that organization will be able to respond to this message explicitly, or if the charm binds them to not even hint – by physical means – that they were part of the downfall of Tom Riddle, formerly known as Lord Voldemort._

_Be advised that the Ministry of Magic supports you whole-heartedly. If you see this, but cannot respond to it, please know that we have the very best curse-breakers, Aurors, and Ministry staff working around the clock to rectify this situation for you. I, as Minister for Magic, do not forget my brothers and sisters, even if we have never met. _

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP

**RADIO TRANSCRIPT**

10 January 2000

RICHARD DRAYCON: It is a special pleasure to announce to you that this broadcast will be presented to you from both the Minister of Magic, Kingsley Shacklebold, and Harry Potter, who needs no introduction. They are introducing a topic hinted at in the _Daily Prophet _last week: The charm the war hero, Moody, wrought to defend those who served in the Order of the Phoenix. Minister Shacklebolt, what can you tell us of this charm?

SHACKLEBOLT: Well, Draycon, I don't know very much about it. As a member of the Order of the Phoenix, I submitted to the charm readily. We'd had trouble with... members of Tom Riddle's regime forcing members, under torture, to admit to their involvement. Moody, who was rightly concerned, took steps to ensure that we would not speak, could feign real ignorance of the missions we undertook, and the people with whom we served.

DRAYCON: Tell me a little more about this. As Minister of Magic, why was it necessary for you to-

SHACKLEBOLT: Well, I wasn't Minister at the time. I was on the run, and had been for over a year at that point. Moody was the leader of our weary band, appointed by Dumbledore himself. I'll not speak ill of the man. He did the best he could, in circumstances far more dire than anyone outside the fight truly realizes.

DRAYCON: Ah, yes. Yes.

SHACKLEBOLT: I was just another soldier, working toward the downfall of Voldemort. Harry, wouldn't you agree?

POTTER: Er, no. I mean, yes. Yes, you were a valuable asset, King- Minister.

SHACKLEBOLT: Oh, don't be a git. I'm Kingsley, to you.

POTTER: Right. Kingsley. Draycon, I think Kingsley is perhaps a bit modest. He was trusted with quite a lot of information, and he worked tirelessly toward the downfall. I know that I trusted him with my life, on several occasions. He was one of the first I met, when I was still at Hogwarts. That's how far back it went.

SHACKLEBOLT: I believe I was one of the Order who liberated you from dire peril at the hands of your aunt and uncle. Ha ha.

POTTER: Yeah, ha ha. Right after Umbridge set the Dementors after me. That was brilliant. I've always wondered – who was part of the Rear Guard? Was there even a Rear Guard?

SHACKLEBOLT: It was Hagrid and his umbrella.

POTTER: I knew it! I knew it!

SHACKLEBOLT: Ha ha.

DRAYCON: As wonderful as it is to see a humorous side to the famous Harry Potter, and the Minister of Magic, we do have a limited time-

SHACKLEBOLT: My apologies, Draycon.

POTTER: Yeah. Yeah, sorry.

SHACKLEBOLT: I think you should take from that is how comfortable and close we as members of the Order of the Phoenix became while working toward a common goal. Harry and I are not unusual – I have called them my brothers and sisters, and though we do not have common parents, we are close in ideals, and beliefs. Every one of us believed that people should be judged by the content of their character, not their magical lineage. That has not changed.

DRAYCON: And you, Mr. Potter?

POTTER: Yes! Yes, I absolutely do. Tonks – Nymphadora Tonks became like a... a sister, or an older cousin to me back in my fifth year. And then she married a man I consider my uncle, so. Yeah. And she was the very first to have the charm broken off of her, which was thrilling, really. The idea of others being bound by the charm, and unable to speak... it's awful. The Order of the Phoenix was... was my family. The members of it still ARE my family. And – and-

SHACKLEBOLT: I think what Harry is trying to say is that just because we are unsure of who Moody was commanding – the network grew every day, Draycon, full of people who were terrified of Death Eaters, but were still willing to do their part in whatever role he asked of them. Moody had a unique ability – perhaps even more than Dumbledore, though we will never know – to recruit people. It's an ability I admire, as I try to recruit the brave and the young to our new Auror Department.

DRAYCON: Is that a blatant attempt to recruit to the Auror Department?

POTTER: I do believe it was. And it's necessary. I've joined up, and the former Enforcer stronghold is prepared for quite a few recruits. I know we were hoping for a lot more applications-

SHACKLEBOLT: Don't try to sugarcoat it, Harry, ha ha. We're taking applications, but basically it's just a sign-in form at this point. We'll take anyone with a modicum of ability, and welcome them as new family members.

DRAYCON: Back to the Order of the Phoenix, what are your plans for finding members who have – as you said – lost their ability to speak of their involvement?

POTTER: I think this is it.

SHACKLEBOLT: What Harry said. We're hoping that the family members – and friends – of those who were involved could come to us. Obviously, they are unable to come forward. So it is up to their friends and family to contribute names of people they suspect might have been involved. It's a tricky situation, Draycon, as I'm sure you can imagine. But we are also following further avenues of inquiry – we are going through all of Moody's personal journals, papers, and the like. Be assured that the Ministry is following any avenue. We will not rest until we've found everyone involved.

DRAYCON: On that note, our interview with the Minister and Harry Potter must conclude. But please – if you have any further information, please send it to the Department of Magical Inquiry, which has been devoted to the reassimilation of members of the Order of the Phoenix.

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP

13 January 2000

Harry slunk into Kingsley Shacklebolt's office at the Ministry for Magic, feeling quite like a second year, going to the Headmaster's office for the first time. His only defense was that the interview had 1) been sprung on him at the last minute, and 2) caught Harry completely unprepared. He was well aware that most of his answers had been stammering and stuttering, whilst Kingsley's answers were polished, and... Ministerly. He summoned all of his tact.

"How much of a git am I?" Harry asked.

Kingsley took his time. He shuffled papers on his desk, cleared his throat a few times, and leaned back in his wide, comfortable-looking chair, steepling his fingers across his broad chest. Kingsley was a big man, in stature and beliefs. In his slow, deep voice, he said, "You appear to be under the impression I am angry with you. Why?"

Harry slumped into a chair. "I don't know – loads of reasons." He pulled at his hair. "I hate interviews," he mumbled.

Kingsley boomed out a laugh. "You did very well," he said warmly. "Harry – I don't think you realize what it means for people to hear that you consider members of the Order to be your family. I don't think you realize what it means to me," he added. He held up a hand to defend against Harry's inevitable rebuttal. "Don't say anything. That radio broadcast had more listeners since – since, I don't know when. At least since Fudge's inaugural address. The important person in that interview was not me. It was you – no, don't argue."

Harry muttered under his breath.

Kingsley pointed a finger at him. "Whether you like it or not, you are the inspiration for a whole new generation, some of whom we very much hope will become Aurors. I would never dream of asking you to endorse the Auror Department – you have far too much work to do for that. But that very brief, open, and honest interview has landed _thirteen _applications on my desk. We need everyone available."

"We _need _to find the member of the Order," Harry shouted. He immediately regretted it. "I'm sorry, sir. I'm just – we saw what it did to Tonks, especially. I just... can't stand it."

"I truly appreciate your fervor, Harry, trust me," Kingsley said. "I feel it the same way."

"I know you do," said Harry. "And you're dealing with a lot – I would not want to be you right now."

"Few would," said Kingsley. "Everything seems to come back to it." He got up and began to pace. Harry watched him move from his grand desk, to his overflowing bookshelf. "Everything would be so much easier. _Everything. _Not only do I want my brothers and sisters – and yes, I genuinely consider you lot that – but there are so many questions. There is a void, Harry." Kingsley paused, and Harry got the impression he was seeing a side few saw of the new Minister: weary, flawed, and working his hardest. "Not the least of which is what to do with the fortunes of the Death Eaters. Few know this, but we are going to go with the honored tenements of Wizard's Duel. Those that defeated the witch or wizard are technically – by ancient standards, and in lieu of a will – in control of the Death Eater's fortune. But in cases like Draco Malfoy's-"

"Who was rumored to be killed by denizens of the Forbidden Forest," Harry murmured.

"Rumors are not fact, Harry," Kingsley said simply. "Moody had agents at Hogwarts. He hinted to me once or twice that Draco, the last of his line, was not killed by acromantulas or centaurs, but by a wizard. That's the largest of such instances, but not the only one. If we could find _everyone _involved, and construct an adequate timeline of the events after Dumbledore's death, we could move on. Don't you agree?"

Harry did agree. The agreement he felt with Kingsley was a presence that followed Harry after he left the interview with Kingsley, headed down the elevator with a number of other wizards, walked out the Atrium, and into Muggle London. It was with him when he met Ron and Hermione at the pub they'd found whilst locating the new offices of the Daily Prophet. And it sat down beside him in the booth, like a perverse double date.

"How was your meeting with Kingsley?" Hermione asked.

"It was – interesting," said Harry.

Ron had declared the place a new favorite ("Not just because I get free drinks," Ron claimed), and it was actually a good place to get away from the magical crowd. Hermione knew the major journalists for the Daily Prophet, and declared she'd never seen any of them at the pub ("They're rather too posh," she said). Harry just liked having a regular place without all the fuss of everyone knowing his name. This was their fourth visit.

"You were worried he was going to be angry with you over the interview," said Hermione.

"Don't sugarcoat it, Hermione, he was terrified Kingsley was going to rip him a new one," said Ron.

Harry glared at him. "Nothing of the sort happened, I don't know what you're talking about," he said feebly. He hunched down in his seat. "It went fine. Kingsley had a lot of good points. Finding members of the Order of the Phoenix is – most importantly – breaking the charm and allowing them to speak. But it's also about wizarding law. He says that a lot of what he is working for – the changes he is hoping to enact, is based on testimonies he's yet to receive. So there's this... added layer of importance. I don't know."

Their order of chips arrived, and Harry took the opportunity to both eat and think. It was true that a lot of problems could be solved if everyone in the Order could come together and pool their knowledge. He rubbed at his scare absently. He was almost entirely certain that all the Horcruxes had been destroyed; he had convinced himself of it during his convalescence in the Hogwarts hospital wing. But if there was anything life had taught him, it was best to strive toward certainty. Harry did not want to hear rumors of a dark presence deep in the Albanian forest. Assumptions were a luxury he could not afford.

"Are you thinking about the Horcrux?" Ron asked in what had to be the loudest whisper Harry had ever heard.

Harry shrugged. The pub had only the most tenuous ties to the wizarding community, but it was not a subject he was comfortable speaking about in public. He ate a few chips, rapped his knuckles on the table, fidgeted, rubbed at his scar-

"Harry, stop, you're driving me mental," said Ron.

"Sorry, I'm just a little-"

"Mental. You're just a little mental," said Ron.

Harry threw a chip at him. The worries he felt were maddening, and all the _almosts _in Harry's life were a litany in Harry's head at times: He was _almost _certain that the Horcrux had been destroyed. They were _almost _on the verge of discovering the other members. Harry was _almost _positive that Voldemort was no longer a physical reality. But what kept him up at night was the conversation he'd had with Dumbledore after Voldemort had struck him with the Killing Curse: "Not all is as it seems, Harry," he'd said. The words were spoken in a different context, but they haunted Harry. If not all was as it seems, then perhaps the evidence of Harry's own two eyes was no longer incorruptible.

With great effort, Harry shoved his worries far away.

Everything was _almost _back to normal.

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP

27 January 2000

News from Britain took a slow, meandering path to Ginny. It drifted on the wind across the channel, fluttered around the major cities and wizarding communities, until it finally, lazily, found itself at Ginny's door. This was why it took over three weeks for Ginny to read the directive from Kingsley Shacklebolt, Minister of Magic. The worst, most dangerous period was over, but Ginny was under strict orders not to leave her bed ("If you want things to progress satisfactorily, you'll obey," said the Healer, who knew her better than he ought). Nevertheless, Ginny felt like dancing. She mostly felt wan and listless these days, but today, yes, she felt like dancing.

Instead, she wrote a letter to her mum.

_I won't rip this one up_, she told herself firmly.

_Dear Mum, _she wrote. Then she was at an absolute loss as to what to say next. This happened often, more than she'd care to admit. But Moody's charm felt like an impenetrable black wall, or a sheet of glass, and writing around it was an exercise in torture. No matter how much time Ginny lingered over the necessity of the charm, it still cut her to think of it. But Kingsley's directive had filled her with new vigor, and she decided – why not? – to have some fun with it. She closed her eyes, and said, "Now where do I want to be?"

An image of the Burrow immediately filled her mind's eye. She shoved it aside.

Ginny was in need of visual inspiration and opened her eyes, and looked around the room – like she hadn't spent days and months inside this room, and needed a reminder, she scoffed at herself. It was painted a pale yellow, was very narrow, private, and quiet. The window was sealed shut – not that Ginny could perform complicated magic in her condition – and the entire place smelled vaguely of Uncle Bilius's home in Pemkowet. It was nauseating.

_The air where I am is so fresh and clean, _wrote Ginny. _It smells like flowers after a rain. You know, those night-blooming flowers, the white ones. You used to buy dried packets of them and put them in my drawers. I never really understood why you did that, but I guess now I do. You were trying to capture this scent. _Or dispel Uncle Bilius's, Ginny thought. Her stomach throbbed painfully, and she sucked in a gasp.

_I fly often here, there are no Muggles around at all, _she wrote: One lie, one truth.

_I know you want me to come home, _she added. _But I can't just yet. I just can't. You said that Bill told you I was wasting the twins' legacy? I am not. I'm certain they'd approve of how I'm spending the money they left me. _She stared at that for a full minute, and then crossed out the bit about the twins' money. Instead, she signed her name.

Ginny wanted to write more. She'd intended to, but writing such... fluff to her mother was in no way cathartic. Due to that unfortunate situation in her first year, she no longer kept a journal of any sort, so that was out. She flexed her fingers, grabbed a new parchment, and wrote: _Dear twins._

Later, she decided that it was perfectly natural to want to write to the only two members of her family who wouldn't judge her; the fact they were dead was immaterial. They were missed. They were her brothers, and she ended up pouring out her heart to them. It was absolutely freeing, and by the time she was done with it, had rolled up both letters and tied a ribbon around them, she felt mellow enough that it did not at all seem crazy to her that she was addressing a letter to her dead brothers (_To Fred and George Weasley, wherever they might be)_.

The worst that could happen was that the owl the sanitarium used to deliver the letters returned with it still tied to its leg.

Ginny yawned, stretched (though carefully, she did not need to hurt herself), and drifted off to sleep, not even realizing that an entire day had gone by without her once thinking of Grumpy.


End file.
